


Liminality

by cleighc



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anthropology, Archaeology, F/M, Fade Spirits, First Love, Healing, Mental Health Issues, Modern Girl in Thedas, Rebellion, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-24 03:30:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13204935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleighc/pseuds/cleighc
Summary: Jo, an aspiring Archaeologist, accidentally finds her way into the Fade through a rift in an ancient ruin in Belize. With social anxiety disorder and a tendency towards depression, this is her attempt to heal, both herself and the people around her. With the help from our favorite resident spirit, of course.





	1. Rites of Separation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new work, in which I wanted to explore how a seemingly weak character could still be considered strong and capable of instigating great change. I really debated whether or not she should be aware of Thedas coming into it, and wrote it out both ways, but ended up posting this version. Please let me know which perspective you think might offer a stronger beginning. Thank you for reading regardless.

“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.” ― Corrie ten Boom

**Chapter 1: Rites of Separation**

Jolina sat on her assigned cot and pulled on her boots. They were made of a sturdy leather, if caked with mud, but she hated how constricting they felt around her ankles. At least the inside was still dry and warm. Next came her hat, the drawstring pulled up to her chin. Skin slightly glistening from bug-repellent and too much sun-screen, teeth brushed, she felt as ready as she could be.

She left the tent and gave to small smile to the professor who had elected to oversee their field study, Dr. Emerson, who was gathering tools inside of a canvas bag. He smiled and nodded in return, and gestured silently to some equipment to his right. Jo nodded and bent down the grasp the handle, while swinging her backpack on with her other hand.

As they walked to the dilapidated ruin, Jo marveled that she was there. Trees so high she couldn’t see the top, massive roots erupting from the ground, the sound of the black howler monkey calling out in the distance. It had taken an entire year her first year at the University to figure out what she wanted to do, but one Anthropology class later and she was set. Every class after had felt right; easy to understand, fascinating to read about, and left her with a deep appreciation for history, cultural diversity, and a thirst for more knowledge. It didn’t matter what sub-field. Socio-cultural anthropology, biological anthropology, archaeology, or linguistics. It was all fascinating.

She had jumped at the summer field school opportunity in Belize. The prospect to see the past in person, to make new discoveries, to travel. The anxiety of her situation had caught up with her in the airport, and amidst boarding the crowded airplane had prompted a panic attack. She was guided through her hyperventilation by a patient fly attendant, and then left to appreciate the ground from above.

Now that she was there, the vegetation protecting her, new places to explore, Jo felt her anxiety ease as curiosity pushed her forward.

The rest of the group was already at the site, several setting up equipment, other staking up strings marking the barrier of the caved-in tunnel they were in the middle of excavating. Only a few feet at a time, each new discovery’s location carefully marked. It was painstaking work, but her first archaeology class had taught her the importance of patience while doing this kind of research. To excavate was to destroy the site, so everything needed to be recorded in the case that new understandings were reached later in time.

The individuals in the group largely ignored her. That wasn’t a surprise, and by now just the act of fulfilling her expectations was calming. Consistency amidst the unpleasantness. 

At least they weren’t bullying her. Her disposition often made her into a victim; she was very quiet and obviously unsure about herself. Anxious and neurotic. A perfectionist. Curious and bright, but alienated from her peers as she struggled to understand how to communicate with them. She just didn’t seem to have a lot in common with them. She didn’t drink. She enjoyed doing homework. And she felt uncomfortable with all of the touching- the little nudges, handshakes, fist-pumps, and hugs that everyone seemed to engage in almost subconsciously.

Jo felt uncomfortable around them, and they could tell. She had tried to speak on several occasions, but every time she tried, it didn’t come out the way she had intended, and people were either offended or laughed at her. And a girl without friends, a girl ostracized, seemed to be the perfect girl to torment.

But here they were professionals-in-training. Or so she hoped. Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed rather quickly.

A couple hours in, Jo quietly informed one of the boys that she needed to use the restroom, when he happily told her that the location had been moved. He walked her further into the complex, and reassured her that there was a break in the hallway a-ways down and to the right. She gave him a small smile to thank him for his assistance, but felt paranoid when his grin grew larger. She looked back and saw a couple of girls watching and listening, but they did nothing to refute him, so she bounded down the ancient hallway.

She heard snickering behind her, and felt a kind of dread settle into her stomach, but she didn’t want to assume. The boy had never done anything to her before, and she knew she had a tendency to pessimistically misinterpret actions. They deserved the benefit of the doubt unless she could prove otherwise.

However, as she turned to the right, she quickly saw that there was no break to the wall. It just kept going, getting darker and darker. She briefly considered heading back, but knew that if she did they would all laugh at her. Wanting to avoid the humiliation, she took out her cellphone and turned on the flashlight app.

And with that little bit of light, she trudged forward.

She saw signs of previous excavations as she walked, and was torn between appreciating the history and acknowledging some forlorn feeling that rose in her about what was lost. It was then that she felt it. Or heard it. If whispers could be felt. Far away, muted, but almost melodious. She crept forward cautiously, anxious to find the source of the mutterings, if just to appease her irrational fears. She went as far as the end of a hallway before she could go no further, the stone protruding out strangely.

Jo frowned and sighed, disappointed as she tried to mentally ready herself to return, but slipped on a loose stone as she was turning. She was flung back, gravity pulling her down as her arms flailed behind her and her phone dropped, the small light hitting the far wall and throwing the stone in front of her in darkness. Her back fell against the rocks, but her momentum pushed and she fell through the wall behind her. Her head smacked on the ground in a jarring thud, and it took several minutes for Jo to sit up. Her back felt slick, pain pulsing, and nausea forced her to even her breathing. She opened her eyes to darkness, and had to swallow the fear that threatened to engulf her as she felt around. Her phone was missing.

Shuddering, Jo began crawling forward on the stone, avoiding debris through feel as the whispers and feeling of anticipation (or was it dread?) got louder. Her hand scrapped unpleasantly on the edge of a piece of metal, and Jo clenched her fist through the sting as she cautiously stood. Her pace was slow as she nudged the ground ahead of her with the tip of her boots, slowly trudging around a hallway. There was a door, and the whispers had become mutters. She pushed on the door, feeling the blood on her hand smear the engraving as she heaved, and fell into an atrium lit a sickly green as the door swung inwards.

Jo stood for several minutes in astonishment. There was a hole in the air in front of her, outlined in green, which crackled with energy almost as if it were emitting electricity. What in the world?

She took several steps closer, curiosity propelling her forward. Her glance quickly darted around on the incredible off-chance that demons were present, feeling paranoid again, but the room was silent except for the voices emitting from the green tear of space. Another step, and then another. She tried to peer inside when a hand reached out of the space and grabbed onto the front of her shirt, pulling her through. 

*

When she came to, Jo was fairly convinced she was dreaming. Rocks were held suspended in the air, light reflected oddly distorting the air, and she could _feel_ strange things. The whispers had turned into emotions, wants, dreams, desires, fears, and the voices threatened to overwhelm her. She looked up and saw more green illuminating a distorted impression of a sky. The ground was murky and indistinct. Some of the stone shimmered red, and Jo wrapped her arms around herself in terror.

She scooted back, startled, as she saw what she thought might be demons in the distance. They seemed so angry, an embodiment of the emotion, negative energy swirling as their feelings screamed. Jo started shaking.

A hand was pressed into her shoulder, and Jo whimpered softly as she turned to see what had held her. It was a distorted figure, womanly in shape and gleaming a shimmering black. Initially frightening, but the figure’s eyes glowed with understanding.

“Aesa laspari.” 

It was not the words which Jo understood so much as it was the sentiment behind it. The calm tone. She forced herself to take deep breaths through the panic and anxiety, clutching her knees. “Where am I?” Jo breathed. She found if she focused on the woman next to her, the other voices were softer and less insistent.

The figure’s head tilted curiously. “Eus qusun. Ma travken ea lan fade.”

The last word stuck out, despite Jo’s lack of ability to hear the language. It had pronounced it like fee-aid, the d receiving a majority of the emphasis, but Jo knew. The fade. So, some kind of limbo? Was this an afterlife? How utterly terrifying. Although she could be dreaming- there was a good chance she lost consciousness when she hit the floor. 

“Who are you?” It seemed the appropriate thing to say.

The figure spoke, but Jo didn’t understand what she said. Then it frowned, and spoke several more sentences. Jo continued to stare blankly.

Finally, the figure’s lips pursed and it (she?) let go of Jo’s shoulder only to hold out it’s (her?) hands. Jo looked from the black outstretched fingers to her own hand in apprehension. The figure waited patiently as Jo gathered the courage to grasp it’s hands, mentally prepared to feel the shudder of repulsion that usually followed contact. It did not come. Jo looked up in surprise, and saw the womanly figure stare at her in concentration.

It spoke some more, but nothing happened. It once again frowned, huffing in agitation, before speaking some more. The womanly figure seemed to be getting upset, and Jo then tried to critically consider her situation, rather than stare blankly. 

So, say this was a dream. If she was aware of the fact, shouldn’t lucid dreaming be possible? In which case, all she would need to do is will whatever she wanted into appearance. Jo grasped the hands of the figure (Jo thought it might be a spirit, or some kind of spiritual entity), and tried to will herself the ability to understand her, but her doubts kept interceding. This was impossible. This was ridiculous. But she was already here, and she was already experiencing this, so what was to stop her? She mentally forced her doubt to subside, reaching for faith. Or hope. Instead she found desperation, but she used it all the same as she tried to will understanding.

And it seemed to work. The womanly figure continued to speak, and slowly words were mussed apart until she understood entire sentences. “Little one, you need to think about trying to understand my language. You have to will it into being. I tried in your place, but it seems I cannot do it for you.”

“It is fine,” Jo stated, and the figure’s eyes widened in surprise. “I apologize, who did you say you were again?”

The womanly figure smiled. “Wisdom. This has proven to be an interesting encounter.”

Wisdom? Was this a spirit of a person that embodied wisdom, or an entity representing the concept?

Jo looked at Wisdom curiously. “What are you? Is any of this real? Am I still alive?”

The spirit’s smile softened. “I am a spirit. And you are alive. Although how you came to enter the Fade physically will be of some interest to my friend.”

Jo frowned. “Your friend?”

“An individual who has spent much time consciously in the Fade. He has a very curious mind.”

Jo blinked, feeling overwhelmed. “I see. Why am I here?” She still didn’t believe she wasn’t dreaming. Maybe this spirit would know what she would need to do to wake up in her body? Jo remembered stories and books and video games; maybe she needed to complete some kind of task? She was desperate to grasp onto some kind of hope, even if it seemed fanciful and ridiculous.

“I cannot say. Do you remember what brought you here?”

Jo frowned. “A hand grabbed my shirt and pulled me through a green tear in the air in front of me.”

“Ah.” The spirit mouth twisted, and it led Jo to the top of a ledge, looking down on a plane of green portals and rocky outfitting illuminated by a garish green sky. A fortress of black loomed in the far distance. “Did it look something like that?”

Jo stopped breathing. She knew, because one moment she was perfectly still, and the next she was gasping for breath. What was this? There must have been hundreds of these tears. Was this her key home? Did she have to find the right portal? Where did they all lead? She looked over herself, saw the blood splattered against the cuts in her palms. Dusty rubble coating her clothes and sticking to the sunscreen sticky skin. Felt the weight of her backpack. It all felt frighteningly real. Terror and anxiety bit at her.

“My, such a busy mind. I am sure there is much we should discuss,” the woman seemed pleased, smiling reassuredly. Thus began one of many conversations Jo had with Wisdom about the nature and construction of the strange world Jo had stumbled into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you couldn't tell, my poor attempt at a made-up language. Supposed to be Common. Let me know what you think.


	2. The Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo's experience in the fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: There is mention of child death during this chapter. Not in any graphic detail, but just so you are aware.

“You have power over your mind - not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” ― Marcus Aurelius

**Chapter 2- The Fade**

There was no time in the fade, but Jolina felt as if she had been there for weeks. For days she and Wisdom discussed the nature of the fade and the world it said was reflected- some place called Thedas. Without fail their conversations evolved into philosophical matters about the character of human nature, about whether or not there was a natural order to anything, and what powers existed that might try to maintain said order. Eventually they discussed rights, and government, and rationality. Jo was positive that she had never spoken this much to anyone in her entire life.

She worried about how long she had been there, and each conversation (the only thing to mark the passing hours) made it more unlikely that this was a dream. How long do lucid dreams normally last? Wouldn’t they have found her body by now? The idea that this was her new reality was terrifying, and Jolina coped by pestering Wisdom for new information and entertaining distractions (a.k.a. philosophical inquiries impossible to prove).

They began to move around after Jo had calmed enough to feel comfortable doing so. It became obvious that Wisdom knew exactly where to go in order to avoid the demon-like entities, and Jo slowly became less distrustful of the world around her. Wisdom then introduced her to other spirits that seemed, overall, benevolent in nature. Mercy had a laugh that reminded Jo of rain sprinkles on wet concrete. Valor’s grip was strong as it led her over rickety planks serving as a bridge across two suspended rocks, amusement and good nature showing through a crooked smile. Faith was difficult to meet; it seemed to sense that Jo struggled a lot with the concept, and had no problem grabbing Jo’s cheeks and stating, cheerily, “I believe in you. Even after you leave this place, you will go on to achieve great things. You will meet people who can accept you for who you are. You will find love.”

Jo nodded doubtfully, and the group of them traveled together for a while. Wisdom explained it was because of the oddity of her presence. “Humans are not supposed to be able to be physically present within the Fade. To us, you are a curiosity. An impossibility. And a chance to help, which is usually only possible through dreams.”

Jo saw very quickly what she meant. Dreamers existed as flickers of light that emitted such desperation. Fear. Anger. Hopelessness. She watched her new friends spring into action whenever they came across one, and they offered whispers of solace and strength. Jo wanted to help too, but she didn’t know how. 

Eventually she came across the dreamer of a little girl, who was afraid that her father would not come home from the war, would not be there to help her mother get better. Everyone was sick. Coughing spittle, blood, houses were barricaded and set aflame, screams piercing the night. The girl had fallen asleep exhausted from the fear that encompassed her small body. Jo crouched near the light, and not knowing what to say, sang a lullaby she had learned as a child. One that spoke of peace and safety and hope. The little girl seemed to hear her, her distress quieting, until the light blinked out. Happy that she had been comforted, but still upset from feeling the girl’s distressing emotions, Jo looked up to see the group of spirits smiling encouragingly at her.

It was hard. Compassion and hope and faith. It was hard to see the pain and struggles present, the needless conflict and needless suffering. But she wanted so badly to help. Here, she felt as if she had a place, a purpose, a sense of belonging. People needed her. She wasn’t judged and found unworthy. Jo clung to that, still reeling from the uncertainty as her life was uprooted.

They also came across human spirits that had already entered the fade, but that stood separate from the demons and separate from her friends. Ghosts, then? They did not seem to have a purpose, and did not seem to exude any one emotion. Instead, they simply existed and wallowed, incomplete and upset. Jo could not hear their thoughts like Wisdom, but she could feel their emotions and their circumstances, their whispers that pulled on her heart-strings. She attempted to intercede and comfort the ghosts, and was met with mixed success.

When the despair became too much for her, when the death and pain and anger of desperate fingers of shimmered light became too much to take, a spirit of Compassion appeared. She sobbed, clutching her forehead with taunt fingers, pulling at her dark brown hair, and was pulled into a pair of arms that seemed to understand her difficulties. There was warmth and solace, and when she finally looked up, spent but more at peace, Compassion smiled.

When the fear became too much, Valor had taken her aside and taught her to defend herself. Jo was surprised to find how much that helped; the illusion that she would be able to take care of herself against the ever present demons if her friends ever decided to leave. Swords materialized, and it took what felt like days of practice before Wisdom reminded Jo that she could will herself into expertise. It was still a struggle to believe strongly enough to force the Fade to bend to her will, but Faith helped to work her through previous trauma. “They were wrong. The doubters knew nothing about you, not really. You can accomplish anything you want to.”

The cuts in her hands and the bruises in her back were ever present, as her body didn't seem to heal normally in the fade, and they acted as an annoyance as she was working with the weapons. She eventually took to practicing with bandages wrapped around her fingers, which helped with the pain.

Jo had questioned their static forms, which, while not exactly human, had many human characteristics. They explained that they were afraid to startle her, and had taken on forms they thought would be easier for her to accept. Jo had simply nodded, afraid to question too much. Afraid of change.

Lively debates continued, although Wisdom seemed to enjoy contemplating hypothetical situations far more than everyone else. The rest were far more eager to help. After Jo had become proficient with a sword, they moved onto the bow, and then daggers. They eventually met Justice, who had suggested to Valor that she attempt magic. 

Jo was flabbergasted. Magic? Although it promoted the idea that this was a fantasy space.

After it became obvious that Jo had little to no faith in magic (and thus could not begin to imagine casting the simplest of spells), the spirits found a joint cause and rallied together to teach her. The cynicism and fear and pain from a lifetime of negative experiences worked against her desperation to please her new friends, and it wasn’t until Hope glided in, impossibly graceful, that any progress was made. Even then, Jo was sure it was weeks before she could cast a simple spell of light in a way that felt natural.

But still, she felt herself grow. Jo had become used to moving around the Fade, and now maneuvered through the space with ease, despite her physical form. She adapted to using her will in order to accomplish what was needed. And she became a stronger person, who she dearly hoped was able to embody some of the virtues of her friends. 

*

It was during one of these evenings when they came across the visage of a young man. Clearly a spirit, he had given his life to some kind of order called the Templars, only to find out that he had been ordered to cut down his mother. His mother, who Jo could feel had never caused any harm. Who had been cooperative in something called a circle. Remembering her caused pain and grief, but also rage, and Jo watched with fear and despair as the spirit of the young man became a demon of fire and fury. His eyes distorted, fingers grew into claws, and flames contorted around his body as it manifested his struggle.

Jo was shaken from the experience, and asked the spirits around her uneasily about corruption. Could all spirits or ghosts become demons? Still afraid to be wrong, or say the wrong thing, she struggled to ask in a way that would convey her concern for their well-being. Wisdom looked at her in response and asked, with a familiar head-tilt, “What is pride?”

Jo thought about her answer. “Untempered self-absorption? Inordinate self-esteem?

Wisdom looked thoughtful. “Is that it?”

Jo thought critically of the word, and shook her head. “Only when it is held to the extreme. Pride can be justified? A necessary recognition of one’s own skills and esteem that can give someone fulfillment and courage.” 

Wisdom smiled. “Fear?”

“Too much can lead to inaction or irrationality. But it can also strengthen relationships and encourage people to band together. It can encourage people to not take risks heedlessly.” 

“Rage?”

“Anger pushed to irrational limits. Without temperance it can lead to rash actions, mistakes, unnecessary death. But it is also an emotion that can spurn somebody to action, which could be to defend or protect.”

Wisdom’s smile grew as she nodded. “So you could argue that everything is necessary?”

Jo frowned. “I understand that everything has its place. But corruption isn’t a matter of being and serving a purpose. It’s a distortion of purpose. An imbalance. What would happen if you were to get pulled through the Fade?”

This was not a heedless concern. All of the spirits had begun to notice rifts opening throughout the Fade that seemed to suffocate space and prompt changes in the nature of the spirits surrounding it. Jo was aware of their caution, and the journey they were making towards an imperious palace of black that stood in the background.

Wisdom smiled. “What needs to happen will be.”

Jo’s frown deepened. “You know how I feel about that.” Jo had argued rather fiercely against predetermination in an earlier argument. She really disliked the idea- she couldn’t bear the thought that all of this suffering was somehow mandated. And that she didn’t really have any control over her life. 

Wisdom smile remained as she blinked and looked away. 

“Just remember the importance of temperance.”

*

At some point during their travels, Jo had remembered her fall and the questionable condition of the items in her backpack, and had stopped to look inside of it anxiously. Please let it be okay, she chanted to herself as she grabbed the camera case and peered inside.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she realized that nothing was cracked, and attempted to turn it on. The light blinked, and it turned on, and Jo felt almost irrationally happy. Curiosity overcame her, and she walked over to a ledge ignoring the attention from her group of spirits nearby. Ahead of her the view was as breathtaking as it was terrifying. A long expansion of cracked earth across a flat plain was all that was between the small group and the black palace, and the entire field was littered with large, glowing rifts. The green energy seemed to rise, slightly distorting the air above it. The sky glimmered almost threateningly. Jo snapped a couple of pictures once she could bring myself to stop staring in dread.

Jo anxiously looked back at the camera to see if it had saved. It had. She didn’t know how to feel about that, before she turned around to face the spirits. “Do you mind if I take a picture?”

Once she had explained and showed them what a camera was, Valor was the first to offer himself up. The camera clicked, and an image appeared, but all that could be seen of the spirit was a dim outline of his form and face. Not the bodily image Jo was staring at over the top of the camera.

He demanded to see himself, and then laughed when she showed it to him. She snapped another at a pride demon against a backdrop of red stone, which took far better. Wisdom had nodded after Jo showed her the difference. “Relevance and prevalence. I suspect this is due to our limited interactions with humans.”

Even so, Jo wanted something to remember them by. She had a strong feeling that her many new spirit friends were preparing to depart, anxious to reach out to more dreamers in need. She took out her sketchbook and colored pencils, and they looked at her with indulgent expressions as she drew. Looking up at Wisdom, the two shared quiet smiles.

*

Jolina got lost only once. She had stopped to pick up a letter, and it had taken a few minutes for her to will herself to understand the script. It had been heart wrenching, similar to many of her other experiences in the fade. A mother, a mage from some place called the White Spire, had gotten pregnant from a Templar. Afraid that she wouldn't be allowed to keep the child, she made a mad dash in order to save the baby’s life. She had escaped and was taken in by a sympathetic family long enough to have the child, but had been forced on the run as the baby’s father noticed her absence and led a group of soldiers in the pursuit of her capture, clutching a vial of red. 

She had crouched in a ditch, desperate, but the baby wouldn’t stop crying. The mother’s fear flooded them both, and through her tears the woman had tried to silence the babe by placing her hand over his mouth. She hadn’t realized that his nose was full of snot, suffering a cold from being exposed to the elements, and only a minute had passed before she noticed he wasn’t breathing at all. She tried everything she could to get him to breathe, but when nothing worked, grief and guilt and torment had spiraled until she was screaming in agony.

The Templars had found her rather quickly after that, but holding the dead babe they assumed the worst and pierced into her with a blade.

The letter read like a suicide note, and Jo noticed the tears streaming down her eyes just about the same time she realized she was all alone.

She started up in panic, especially when she noticed a despair demon rapidly approaching in her direction. She had been about to will her daggers when she saw a floating ball of light dancing in the air in front of her. It looked like foxfire, or a wisp. Like from the old tales.

“Are you a wi-, a wisp?” Jo had whispered through her tears.

The ball bounced an affirmative, and Jo felt hope grip her heart. They could help lead people places, right?

“Can you lead me to my friend Wisdom?”

Again the ball bounced. Jo turned and reverently placed the letter back on the stone whispering the woman’s name. “Isabel.” She then turned back towards the beautiful ball of light and gestured ahead of her with her fingers. The wisp understood, and bounded forward much more quickly than Jo had anticipated.

Before she knew it, she was sprinted through the fade, jumping over holes and clouds of dust the orb of light flew through, until she ran into a familiar group of spirits. They had anticipated her return, and each gave her a look that signaled strength. Jo smiled in relief.

*

They had been traveling for some time, Jo stopping to take pictures or sketch things of interest at random intervals, when they were met by another traveler. But this was no transparent ghost, or embodiment of emotion. He wore a grey and green tunic top, breeches, and a necklace crafted from an animal jawbone. His head gleamed with the lack of hair, and a staff was strapped to his back. Jo noticed the pointed ears with a start. Was that an elf?

He seemed equally surprised at her presence.

Neither spoke. Wisdom was watching them both with amusement. The man took a step forwards, suddenly scowling, and Jo darted behind Valor, peeking over the spirit’s shoulder hesitantly. Valor’s laughter at being treated as a shield echoed off the surrounding rocks, and it slowly turned and pushed her forward. She stared at the spirit incredulously, after looking at the clearly magical staff with clear apprehension. “I can’t take him,” she stated with wide-eyed certainty.

“You won’t need to,” it assured, pushing her forward towards the elf. Jo held her hands out in front of her, nervously picking on threads coming out of the bottom of her exposed tank top, as she brought her eyes up to meet his.

But the man wasn’t look at her. He addressed Wisdom in a language Jo didn’t understand, but which she thought might be Elven. She didn’t want to be racist, but what else might it be? She tried to will understanding, but the conversation remained incomprehensible. Their interplay continued, and Jo grew steadily more anxious as time went on. Finally, he stopped to look at her.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Jo felt her eyebrow raise at his tone. So? She was already here, and it is not as if she knew how to leave. After a few moments of silence the man continued, “How long have you been here?”

Jo remained silent, still nervous in front of the elf, but confused because the question didn’t make any sense. Time didn’t seem to exist in this realm the same way it had in hers. How would she know what to tell him?

He seemed to realize, as he sighed. “My apologies. I am just surprised at your presence. But you need to leave. Humans are not supposed to spend time physically in the Fade.”

Jo had planned to keep her mouth shut, until Wisdom prodded her with a black foot, an expectant expression on its face. Jo surrendered. “I do not know how to leave.”

The elf frowned. “How did you get here?”

“I was pulled through a rift.”

“And you never thought to try to go back through it?”

“Which one?” Jo was fairly certain that the rift she had first gone through had vanished. In fact, she didn’t remember any rifts being present in the area that she first appeared in. And she was nervous to consider throwing herself into the holes at random. What if they led to different worlds? What if she got trapped in some kind of dystopian apocalypse?

The elf frowned, and then turned back to the band of spirits. “Thank you, but I can help her from here.”

Jo frowned in consternation. She didn’t want them to go. They were her friends. But before she could say anything, they had trotted over to her (or glided in Hope’s case), said their farewells, and disappeared into the ether. Only Wisdom remained.

The disappointment and anger flared before Jo forced herself to acknowledge that they had been planning to leave soon anyways. It would be unfair to pin these emotions on an individual who seemed as though he was planning to help. Wisdom smiled brightly at her, as if proud and happy at her thought-process. Jo looked up at him, and he had grabbed his staff from his back and pointed into the field of rifts. The way he looked back at her made her think that the trepidation she felt inside was being advertised across her face. He held out his hand with a frown. Jo was uncertain, and afraid, but he waited much the same as Wisdom had until she reached forward to grasp his palm.

His palm was dry and warm. Yet still somehow unpleasant. Jo wondered if she was surprised.

It took a rather long time for the elf to find the exact rift he was looking for. He was oddly silent during the journey there, which Jo was oddly comfortable with. Without the pressure of social expectations she was probably ignorant of. “There,” he stated, “this one should be relatively close to our camp. Wait a few minutes after I leave before jumping so I can assure we are there to fight the demons off after you arrive.”

Jo frowned, and drew her hand back defensively toward her chest. “Where does it go to? And I don’t know who you are.”

The strange elf smiled abashedly. “My apologies. My name is Solas. I am… considered something of an expert on the fade. Trust me when I tell you that you should not stay here any longer than you have already. As to where- Ferelden, near Crestwood I believe.”

She had no idea where that was. But the familiar way Wisdom was acting with the elven man… “This is your friend?” Jo asked the spirit.

Wisdom smiled and nodded, and Jo frowned. So she could trust the man to not take advantage of her? To help her with sincerity. Hopefully. “I am not from Thedas. I want to go home. Can you help me?”

Solas looked more than a little disturbed. “You are not from Thedas?”

Jo shook her head in the negative.

Still frowning, Solas looked considering and turned to Wisdom. The spirit responded before the man said anything. “You are right, I think. Already her body is changing.”

Solas nodded in acknowledgment, and turned to Jo. “I suggest you come to Thedas while we attempt to find a way for you to come home. We can search for the means used to transport you between worlds and the means to reproduce the effect in the meantime.”

Jo bit her lip nervously. What Wisdom had stated was… worrisome. What was wrong with her body? “Why do I need to leave right now?”

Solas’ look turned earnest, as if willing the woman before him to take his words to heart. “Physical human bodies were not meant for such a space. I am not sure exactly what Wisdom is referring to, but your body seems to be adjusting in order to accommodate the change. You have been here for a long time, after all.”

Jo nodded and stated she would come through, and the man disappeared. So, she was really doing this. Jumping into an unknown world. Filled with strange people like elves. Maybe it would be something like Lord of the Rings? Although considering all of the conflict in that universe, the thought made her very nervous. But the alternative… she worried for her body.

She turned back to Wisdom, and could not stop herself from flinging her arms around the spirit. She peered into its face intently. “I will never forget you,” Jo stated, and Wisdom’s smile stretched as she returned the hug. “Nor I you.”

When she was released Wisdom disappeared much as the other spirits had, and Jo had to fortify herself with a deep breath as she stared into the pulsing green hole. Now or never. She charged, the memory of Valor’s steel courage leading her through the hole. And then gravity reasserted itself without mercy, and Jo struggled to breath as her back and head erupted in pain.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovelies! Please let me know if you liked it! Your reviews and kudos sustain me. But as always, thank you for reading.


	3. Thedas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo adapts to life outside of the Fade.

“It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.” ― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy

**Chapter 3: Thedas**

Jolina came to with a gasp and looked up, just in time to see the claws of a rage demon descending towards her head. She rolled, hissing as her back and head throbbed, and propelled herself into a crouch.

The world felt wrong. Too heavy. Too bright. Too loud. She instinctively tried to will herself a pair of daggers, but nothing appeared, and Jo was forced to jump out of the way as spikes of ice shot out of the ground in front of her. Slowly sound gained clarity, and she heard fighting- the clink of blades, the screams of demons, the grunts and yells of people. People.

People?

Her vision cleared and she saw a small group of people attacking the demons in earnest. She recognized Solas, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight, swinging a staff around his body in a way that seemed almost majestic. There was man decked out in heavy metal, wearing a helmet in the shape of the griffon, and swinging a large one-handed battle axe. Jo could not help but spend a moment staring at the magnificient facial hair.

She saw an eleven women yielding a sword, her left hand glowing slightly green. The same sickly shade as the sky tears. The woman’s dark auburn hair swirled around her as she spun and flung her shield in the way of another bolt of ice, only to parry and send her sword through a demon’s neck.

A figure darted in front of her and shoved her slightly to side, interrupting her moment of appreciation, and she saw a blur of a young man flip over the demon that had been about to attack her as he plunged twin daggers into the demon’s back. It screamed in rage, but slowly dispersed into space, and Jo was able to more clearly see a wide-brimmed hat hiding shaggy blonde locks. His head lifted far enough that Jo was about to catch a pair of murky grey-blue eyes looking at her curiously.

He…

It was this that prompted her panic. He felt right and wrong at the same time. Pieces of her familiar Fade clung to him, but that is not what he was. Was not all he was. He was more than her spirit friends, and that difference seemed to highlight everything that was wrong with this world. The too-bright light of the sun overhead, the too-gritty feeling of sand pressing into her legs. The too-loud sounds of everything- birds chirping, trees rustling, people moving… She watched the elven woman close the green rift with an elegant twist of her hand and felt panic swamp her senses.

The connection was gone. She assumed the familiarity of the Fade coming in through the Rift had left her with a few moments of reprieve, but now that it had disappeared… She struggled to breath, pulling at her hair. This couldn’t be real. Why was she here? She didn’t want to be here. Just when she had been able to create some feelings of companionship. Just when she was getting used to the conversations. Their strength, their comfort, their presence. She couldn’t do it without them. She thought she might be strong, that they might have made her into more than she was, but now she knew. She was never meant to be anyone in particular. She was never meant to accomplish anything. She was meant to die, insignificantly, just as billions had before her.

Tears fell as she hyperventilated, the wrongness and hopelessness pervading her senses. But her breaths didn’t seem to be enough, and soon she was gasping. Someone pushed her hands from her face, and she dug her fingernails into her forearms in an attempt to feel _something_. Pain was something, right? She gripped harder, and blood pooled underneath her fingernails, before someone made a noise of disapproval and tried to grab her hands from her arms.

No. It felt wrong. Just as wrong as she was used to people feeling, but it hadn’t felt like this in the Fade. She had forgotten how it felt when touch seemed to inspire shivers and claustrophobia and disgust. She started shaking as sobs turned into moans of pain, and then terrified shrieks. She heard people around her arguing, dragging things through dirt. Light was everywhere. Sound was everywhere. Too much, too much, too much…

She was lifted and carried for a few steps, and then set down somewhere dark. Her bag was removed from her back and set down on the ground beside her. The sounds were muted. A warm pair of arms came around her small, shaking frame, and all Jo could think was ‘Compassion’. They felt so similar to the arms she had felt in the fade when she was depressed. He started humming as more broken sobs burst forth as that thought led to her current predicament.

‘I am alone.’

“No. You’re not,” a voice responded, a young man who sounded mellow, if a bit sad. Jo could feel the sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt, patched but soft. She gripped his clothed forearms with her fingers, and thought in response.

‘Of course I am. What will I do now? My friends are gone. And I can’t help people anymore.’

The person behind her shook his head. “A sound without sound, a presence without purpose. She thinks of herself as a stain on the wall that festers. But you _can_ help.”

‘How? I am nothing without them. I relied on them too much. They made me more than myself. Now where will I find wisdom, or valor? Faith and hope?’

His arms tightened. “Remember.”

The tears continued to fall, and Jo tried not to cling to the pieces of fade clinging to the young man’s skin. Was it really Compassion? It still felt wrong, but not like when she had been touched a few minutes ago. He had started humming again and she was able to breath. A sliver of light appeared in front of her, and Jo realized she had been placed in a tent. The tent-flapped continued to part, and the elven man stepped through.

Jo looked up at him with shuddered eyes. “Solas,” she muttered.

The elf nodded solemnly. “Yes. And you are?”

Jo thought the name Jolina, but couldn’t seem to make herself say it. She was so tired.

“Jolina,” the young blonde answered for her from behind, and Jo felt down his sleeve to grip one of his hands in thanks. Warm. Without any of that feeling of discomfort. The relief dampened some of her desperation. Thank goodness. He squeezed back.

“Jolina.” The elf sighed loudly, before sitting down on the ground across from them. “I admit that I have never come across your circumstance before. Wisdom said you spent years with her in the Fade in your physical form. As far as I know, this had never happened before. I cannot be sure yet of the consequences.”

“Y-years?” Had it really been that long? Not that she had any way to tell, but years? How many? What did she look like now? Was she considerably older? It was then that she looked down at her clothing and saw the age. Her casual button-up shirt that was obvious fraying at the edge, dust clinging between the creases. Her tank-top underneath had holes and was covered in grime and blood. Her shorts had worn the best, but even they were faded in color, the thread rubbed raw in a few spots. How?

Fear and panic once again started to boil over, and she heard a growling sound come from behind her. She twisted anxiously to look at the young man, who was openly scowling at the elf. “You are scaring her,” he reprimanded, before looking down at her.

When their eyes met a second time Jo felt herself relax. The young man’s eyes were murky, but warm. Sweet and sad in a way she couldn’t readily define. She felt safe. And comfortable. A feeling she had never gotten being held outside of the Fade. Was it because of the pieces of the place that seemed to cling to him? Who was he?

Cole’s head cocked curiously. “I am Cole.”

Cole? Jo blinked. Yes, she supposed that was enough.

“Cole?” Solas asked with curiosity, but also an obvious sense of apprehension. Cole didn’t respond, although his hand had tightened around hers. The elf sighed again, then stated, “We are going to bring you back to Skyhold for now. Until we figure out how the Inquisition can help you.”

Skyhold? The name sounded rather foreboding. She imagined an imposing fortress, one of the medieval castles of her old world, and worried. Especially after she heard something about an Inquisition. When she heard that word she thought of Spain in the fifteenth century torturing people and justifying their actions of religious providence. What would they do to her there? Where was she going? How would she get home?

Cole frowned down at her. “It’s nothing like that. You will be safe there.”

Jo couldn’t answer. It felt like a dream, at this point. Her life before the fade. A time of hurt and spilled coffee. Of the ruins. Her memories of its history felt like a dream within a dream. But what was real, then? Her experience within the fade was hardly _grounding_. It all seemed to be a dream.

“Cole?” Solas asked again, his voice harder this time.

“Dreams?” Cole answered, his brow furrowed as he attempted to make sense of Jo’s thoughts.

Solas’ eyebrow quirked. “You dreamed inside of the Fade?”

Jo frowned. Of course not. She couldn’t remember sleeping. She couldn’t remember eating. Why would there be dreams for her? But she saw the dreams of others in the Fade. Not that this is where she got these thoughts, but… she was trying to make sense of this all. And it was impossible to draw any kind of comparison to her world. She didn’t know where she was, after all.

Cole’s frown deepened, and he looked back at Solas. “Remembering _her_ world.”

Solas’ forehead crinkled in thought. “What about her world?”

Jo frowned. Images flashed of what she remembered. What made it her world? Cities of steel skyscrapers and bustling crowds. The screeching and honking of cars during rush hour. A kitchen of whirling appliances. A machine gun tearing into bodies, blood flying, their screams echoing off the walls of the theater. Her father screaming profanities, a hand-gun in his left hand moving thoughtlessly as he made wild, drunken gestures. Her grip on his hand tensed.

Cole’s arms tightened around her almost to the point of pain as he saw these images. “A sharp, glittering world of cold metal and glaring lights. Hurt shouts as the steel screams. Discarded bodies that thrum with pain.”

Jo leaned back to see him again, curious. His phrasing sounded almost beautiful, despite the despair and anger she could feel behind his words. How did he do that?

Cole continued, looking down at her. “He handled weapons liked he handled his drink. But he was sorry. He remembers the girl who swirled. His princess. He didn’t mean to do it.”

The pain and hurt Jo felt remembering was immediate. She could feel the young man immediately tense behind her. How did he know? She was so used to spirits forever reading her mind, that it never occurred to her to think it strange that he was doing the same. Could everyone?

That thought made Jo feel defensive and upset. The man tried to pull away, muttering, “I didn’t do it right. The knot tightened. I should try it again.” Try again? Jo grabbed his arm and pulled him back to herself. And thought _no_ as loudly as she could. She didn’t need to think about this. Not right now.

The young rogue didn’t answer, but the set of his mouth was mulish. Instead he reached behind him to grab her bag, which he set inside of her lap.

Jo grabbed onto the pack with a happy gasp. Her backpack! More importantly, her camera. Something real to edify her journey. After all, she had pictures of everything; her trip to New York City, her cat, her favorite desserts, her travel to Belize, the ruins… and the fade. She could check later and prove that her past wasn’t a dream. Or a figment of her imagination. She clutched it to her chest, her smile wobbly. But then what did that mean for her? Everything about her situation seemed an impossibility. And it seemed far too easy for the disassociation to grab hold and alter her reality. What else was there to grab onto?

Cole reached around her once more to clutch her hand, and she felt herself relax slightly. She would figure this out. She would. For the sake of her spirit friends. For the sake of the people in this new group who had already invested time and energy into helping her out. She looked up into the eyes of the elven mage, who was giving her a look of consideration. “To Skyhold?” she asked.

“To Skyhold,” he repeated in affirmation, a solemn look on his face.

*

Jolina thought that the individuals in this group were extremely accommodating. The first day of travel Jo could only manage to follow at dusk and a few hours into the night. Not feeling the need to sleep (did she forget how?), she sat around the fire with Cole close by. Eventually relaxing, staring into the campfire, Jo was caught by the way the fire seemed to turn all of Cole’s features a golden red, and had gotten out her sketchbook to draw the different shades. He had tried to move to see what she was doing, but she encouraged him to stay seated with strong thoughts and weaker hand motions. The young man sat back down in confusion.

After adjusting to the world all night, she could handle dawn. The next day was overcast, rain showers falling sporadically, but it was enough that she felt comfortable traveling during the day. Slowly, but surely she became used to the brightness.

Noises were harder to get used to. Cole had found a spare scarf, which he had wrapped around her head, covering her ears, with a smile. She could tell from the look of amusement on the face of the others that it looked ridiculous, but noise became so much more manageable, and she was grateful.

The elven woman introduced herself as Ariya, the Inquisitor, and looked at her curiously as Solas explained her circumstances, eyes bright. Jo and Ariya had had a stilted conversation, in which Jo felt much too overwhelmed to actively participate, but the elf just smiled kindly at her, her set of facial tattoos glowing slightly in the moonlight.

The human warrior introduced himself as Warden Blackwall, as if she was supposed to understand the implication of what that meant. Solas had to explain to her the purpose of the order, as well as the nature of the blight. A harrowing tale to be sure. Jo equated Darkspawn to Orcs from Lord of the Rings, and thought about them running around everywhere bringing disease… it did nothing to help her anxiety.

They had three tents set up the second night they stopped to rest, and Solas had insisted that she share a tent with him. He stated that he was concerned about how her resting form might interact with the fade, and wanted to be there just in case to prevent trouble. He healed whatever bruises Jo could still feel on her back and head, and then settled down to watch her fall.

Cole could tell blankets comforted Jo, but he drudged up a few too many in his enthusiasm. She was soon tucked and nestled in a too-warm cocoon, watched by the vigil that was Cole and Solas as she closed her eyes and drifted away.

It felt as natural as breathing, which was unusual from what she remembered about her life before. One second she was sweating almost uncomfortably, a hand wrapped in cotton moving strands of hair from her face, and the next she was in the Fade.

It was almost frightening to be there as a Dreamer. She possessed none of the same control, her will operating differently on the space in front of her. But she was able to reign in any apprehension, comforted by the familiarity of the plain. She wandered, coming across a familiar ball of light, and began chatting with the sparkling wisp.

Solas found her shortly after that, and Jo instantly quieted. Letting out concerned trills, the wisp came over and nudged gently against her face. She couldn’t help but laugh, stroking the wisp and smiling with happiness. She did not feel comfortable attempting to actually do anything in front of Solas, whether that meant conjuring materials or calling out to Wisdom. Instead, Solas sat with her on a group of rocks and they watched a faraway ghost mutter and grip transparent sheets.

“Jolina,” the elf eventually addressed. She turned to look at him. “What did you do while you were here?”

“I helped dreamers that were suffering.” She stated the fact quietly. Well, she had tried. Humming, singing, whispering words of strength and condolence. She found that singing proved to be the most effective.

“So you were able to interact with dreamers. How did you know who was suffering?”

She didn’t know how to describe it. She could just feel it. Intuitively understand their emotions and circumstances. Their struggles. But not their thoughts. Images would form in her mind, imprinted from their experiences, but that was all. The word imprint stuck out as being the most appropriate, and she offered it to him.

“Imprints?” she stated, unsure.

Solas seemed to consider that. “So you never entered their dreams?”

Jo’s eyes widened in surprise. “You can do that?”

Solas nodded, and then stood. “Come,” he stated, holding out his hand. Jo took it with less suspicion this time, jumping up curiously. He took them a few paces until she noticed the familiar light of shuddering translucency and grasping fingers. Still holding her hand in his right, he grasped the fingers with his left. The moment he touched she could feel their joint connection, and an incredible pull. Black, blinding space, and then…

She looked around and saw a field of green, an interplay of weeds and flowers, that stood in front of a homestead. A young man was positioned in front cutting tree chucks into pieces of wood. He turned as he heard a call, and a women wearing a flowing red skirt came out to meet him. They shared a kiss, both grinning tumultuously, as a stray breeze came and blew their hair to the side.

“A memory,” Solas elaborated from beside her, “the way she remembers her youth.”

Jo sighed. It was such a lovely image. Which, from her experience, had not been the norm in a majority of the dreamers she had come across.

Another breath and they were back in Fade, and Solas noticed the woman visibly relax. “Have you attempted to shape the Fade before?”

“Shape?” she asked, slightly tilting her head as she contemplated what he was referring to. Like creating things from the ether? She summoned her daggers with barely a thought, and held the objects out in front of him as if attempting to answer with them alone.

Solas nodded. “Have you attempted anything more than objects? Could you craft a memory like the one we just witnessed?”

Craft a memory? Jo had never considered trying such a thing before. Was that something that was possible in the Fade? Jo thought about what she wanted to see. Reassured of the existence of her old home, she thought about one of her favorite memories, concentrating on remembering the whole as much as the details. It was difficult because it felt so long ago, an impression within a dream, but… It took barely a second before, once again, Solas and she were pulled into a new space.

Jo’s great uncle had a cabin in the northeast part of New York, far away from the city. They arrived in the winter, the surrounding woods covered in snow, and looking into the cabin Jo could see a lit Christmas tree twinkling in front of the window. Presents were stacked around it, and a fire glowed soft embers in a fireplace opposite the window. The snow crunched under her boots as she took a few involuntary steps forward, and she could practically smell the burning wood and taste the spiced hot cocoa. This Christmas had been special- an unusual gathering of cousins and extended family, and it had seemed more somehow. It wasn’t the gifts, or the decorations, or the music; something about family and warmth and acceptance.

Jo turned to Solas to find him looking around curiously. Frowning, suddenly feeling self-conscious, she let go of the memory and they were once again standing in the Fade. Solas pulled his hand from hers, and looked down at her solemnly.

“Are you a mage?” he asked with no preamble.

Jo thought of her pathetic attempts to recreate magic in the Fade, even with the help and guidance of Hope, Valor, and Justice. “Not at all,” she responded, shaking her head.

Solas’ brows furrowed in thought. “Another peculiarity,” he stated. “I have never met anyone who was capable of manipulating the Fade as easily as you who was not a mage.”

Jo thought about that for a long moment. “Does magic enhance their presence in the ether? Or facilitate their ability to create? Or have they already practiced magical application that called for manipulating material in space, and so it was simply a matter of applying the same training in a different context?”

Solas stared at her for a few moments in what Jo felt was surprise, before answering with an approving nod. “A little of all three, I suspect. Although most do not bother to question the intricacies. And the result differs depending on the power of the mage, which adds to the complexity.”

Jo nodded. “How long have we been here?” she asked, looked up at the gleaming green ambiance that made up the sky. Before he could answer, however, the world faded as she took a breath, blinked, and saw cloudy grey-blue eyes peering at her underneath a too-large hat inside of a dark tent.

“Jo,” the blonde rogue stated with a worried eyes and pursed lips. She didn’t understand why until she looked down and saw sweat pouring profusely from her body. All at once, she realized she was sweltering.

Solas stood up from a nearby cot, and once he could take in the situation, began removing blankets. Cole started a muttered refusal, but stood back to watch Solas work. When all of the blankets were removed and she still felt hot, Solas put his hand on her forehead and hummed in disapproval. He left the tent, and Jo audibly appreciated the burst of cold air that entered the tent as he did.

“I’m sorry,” Jo’s attention was immediately drawn to the blonde rogue, “I did this wrong. Burning, sweaty, sticky, sick. Everything is still too much.”

Jo saw that he was still frowning, and smiled. His worry was incredibly endearing. “Don’t be silly. This was perfect.” This was hardly the first time she had gone to bed with too many blankets. She loved blankets. Especially fuzzy ones. And the way he had tucked her in made her feel safe and cared for. Jo knew from experience that those feelings were to be treasured.

Cole’s lips lifted a bit in response to her smile, but they were interrupted as Solas and Ariya entered the tent. Another burst of cool air settled over her arms and legs, and Jo sighed in pleasure.

“You are ill?” Ariya asked with a concerned frown. Jo blinked at her, unsure of what to say. Was she?

The inquisitor sighed. “There will be talking later,” she warned, before sitting beside her cot. “Luckily for you, the rides we requested from Horsemaster Dennett have arrived, so we should be able to carry you back to Skyhold.”

It was only an hour or so before dawn, and they made quick work of putting away the tents and consolidating supplies. Jo stood off to the side clutching her backpack, feeling a bit useless, but unsure how to help. She was eventually fed a potion that tasted like death, wrapped in a few blankets by an insistent Cole, and tossed onto a horse sitting behind Blackwall (who was quickly established as the most skillful rider after a small debate within the group).

This actually turned out quite well for Jo. When the sun came out of the clouds and the light became glaring, she bunched up the blanket edges around her head and leaned into Blackwall’s back. And as they steadily rose in elevation and the temperature dropped, she was able to stay warm. It took the whole day before they were able to reach Skyhold just as sun was setting, and Jo felt herself suck in a breath as the fortress came into the view. Her whimsical thoughts of historical references could hardly do it justice; it was much larger and more imposing in person, and as she came closer she could see it was very much medieval.

Jo took a deep breath against the sudden nerves that were threatening to pour from her body (What if they thought her a spy and tortured her? What if she was too useless to keep? What if she couldn’t manage this new place, meeting these new people?)- breathe in, breathe out. In. Out. She tried her best to draw on the strength of her old friends, needing them, but… It was just her here. So she would have to do the best that she could.

 

* * Cole's POV * *

One moment Cole had been dodging and pouncing, putting the daggers where they needed to go, and the next there was a girl.

She felt strange. A weight pulled on her soul, which he could feel through the brightness of magic and the green pulse of the Fade. It whispered her hurts. Her fears. Anxiety. The fade itself clung to her body, green fingers desperate to grab purchase in the holes and notches of her clothing and skin. It reached out to him, rejoicing in the reconnection of his nearness, and some part of Cole felt whole as a result.

Her needs were loud. So much louder than he was used to. He saw light sear and sound pound, and the girl’s hurt screamed. He tried telling Solas she needed dark. Quiet. Some part of him felt desperate to quiet her struggle.

Solas is good at making things happen. Soon there was a tent, which is where the elf put the quaking girl. Still she needed, but Cole wasn’t sure how to deliver. He wrapped his arms around her because he knew she found pressure reassuring, but some part of him was expecting her to balk. His past experience of giving physical comfort was… mixed. Children and animals didn’t seem to mind, but adults found him strange. Weird and wrong, said the woman that hadn’t screamed.

And touch was still hard for him. Too solid, clothes speak and skin sings, low, lingering, loud, too loud for him to feel comfortable… And it drew attention to his own form. His own body, still a little awkward, too static, too heavy, too slow…

But she had drawn comfort from his arms, even as she sobbed. A stray tear that drifted into his mouth tasted of loneliness and worry. It illustrated her thoughts, which were so loud, he couldn’t help responding to them.

And there were pieces of her he could empathize with. Helping gave her purpose. Pain was grounding. The world was overwhelming because it was… too much. He felt that way sometimes too.

Solas come into the tent and asked questions. The girl couldn’t answer. Jolina. So tired, limbs heavy, fingers curled, drained of something so vital she thought it should be blood. So he responded. He helped.

Her hand came as a shock. Warm. Real. Clutching his as if just touching him was enough to give her strength. Cole had never experienced that before. It was uncomfortable and overwhelming.

The Fade clinging to her clutching hand helped. Muted the whispers of broken fingernails and scrapped knuckles. He started to hum, trying to imitate that mother he had watched comfort her baby, and was surprised to see her calm. Aimless humming became a melody, something lost, notes gaping. He thought of birds trilling, but his voice was slow, sluggish, syrupy. Too low. He still tried, remembering his own solace.

And then Solas said something to upset her, and her panic shouted at him. It echoed in her thoughts and then added just a bit more… hushed breaths behind fingers in the dark. It hurt. Cole reprimanded the elf, because Solas couldn’t hear. He needed to know.

The girl looked at him then, and her eyes reminded Cole of the sky just before the clouds grew heavy enough to drip on the ground. Just looking at him, Jolina grew lax in his arms, and he could feel her discomfort disappearing. How did he do that? How did he help just by looking at her? He was confused.

She seemed just as confused, and asked who he was.

“I am Cole.”

That seemed to be enough for her, which had the spirit rather floored. It had always been enough for him. The syllables of the name resonated of the struggles of the real Cole, a hint of desperation, despair, darkness. The struggle entailed a fight, and he did fight. Fought to stay himself, fought to help for the sake of others. The name was a tribute, surrender, statement, reprisal. It marked him as more than himself.

That was never enough for everyone else. They wanted to know _what_ he was. Not _who_ he was. They were preoccupied with these heavy, unchanging, marked _bodies_ , forgetting the spirit inside. And they created all of these strange rules regarding their piece of flesh, even when its presence was only temporary. Cole didn’t understand it.

But Jolina. His hand tightened around hers. It was enough.

The images her mind conjured, instigated by Solas’ words, were bright. He could tell it was a memory of a memory, which she thought of as dreams. So far removed, however, the thoughts should have been quieter. Why was she so loud?

Her memories hurt.

Towers of metal were filled with boxed cages, reeking of stress, oppression and chronic illness. Cars were a freedom once, the blooming of independence and stolen moments with her grandmother, but death followed as quickly as the wheels turned. The machine whorled into the night, and exhausted, finished with chores, it offered her comfort and warmth. The bodies didn’t look real, lying there in the screen, but the screams made her cringe.

 “A sharp, glittering world of cold metal and glaring lights. Hurt shouts as the steel screams. Discarded bodies that thrum with pain.”

Her father blubbered in his rage, waving metal, swinging fists. His body thrummed with regret even as his fist clenched, and just for a moment the horror of the moment cleared his head and he saw his daughter for what she used to be.

“He handled weapons liked he handled his drink. But he was sorry. He remembers the girl who swirled. His princess. He didn’t mean to do it.”

The response to that was immediate. Her pain and hurt screamed out at him as a mishmash of memories swirled, the colors and sounds pulsing through changes in intensity. The rain was falling in her eyes, and Cole panicked.

“I didn’t do it right. The knot tightened. I should try it again.”

The resounding no was loud enough to make his ears ring. But it wasn’t right! He could do it better. He could make it better. But not listening to her would probably make it worse.

He thought for a second, and found a solution.

He set her bag in her lap. The canvas spoke of travel, of finding strength and security. He thought it might help. And it did. The relief was immediate, but cracks formed, anxiety and desperation peeking through. He reached around to grasp her hand, as she so far appeared to find strength in the contact.

She did. Still. Somehow. Her need now a rustling, reverberating rumble.


	4. The War Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jo is interrogated. Kind of.

“Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word.” ― George R.R. Martin

**Ch. 4: The War Room**

Entering the courtyard, Blackwall helped her from the horse. Cole came up and fidgeted with her cloth, re-wrapping the scarf around her ears and pinning the blankets around her shoulder. Then Ariya gripped her shoulder lightly and steered her into the Main Hall, the only portion of skin visible a small part of her face. Everyone stopped and starred at the strange image she made, several masked aristocrats gasping dramatically, before she was led through a door to the left.

A few doors later, and she entered a room that was empty save for a table containing a large map. Ariya left her there, and Jo assumed it was to locate and bring more people that would decide her fate. Curious, she walked towards the map and saw clusters of placeholders and knives sticking out of various places. 

She was trying to decide whether or not she recognized any of the territories, when the door swung open. Spinning, she saw two dark-haired women enter the room. One woman had short hair and a stern expression, fitted out in leather and metal. Another was dressed rather scandalously, wearing something that looked like a small black bikini under furs and hanging cloth. They were quickly followed by another set of interesting characters; a red-headed woman wearing a purple hood and thick gloves, pinning Jo down with a cold, discerning stare. A young woman carrying a clipboard, wearing a dress made up of elaborate gold ruffles, and beaming a polite smile (made more charming by dimples in her cheek and a little mole by the side of her mouth). Finally, a blond man wearing armor and an extremely puffy pauldron, looking tired and exasperated. They all peered at her with a strange mixture of suspicion, curiosity, and confusion, and Jo struggled to free her hand from underneath all of the blankets.

They all saw her movements and responded with a wary expression. The armored blond man and short-haired woman started to unsheathe their swords, which caused Jo to squeak with apprehension and fear, just as her free hand came into view under the mass of cloth.

They turned to look at Ariya, who was watching Jo with exasperation. “Oh, Jolina.”

“What exactly is going on, Inquisitor? Who is she?” Jo saw from her features that the women who asked was the red-headed woman, and although her features were dispassionate, Jo could feel the suspicion. The potential for animosity. It was more than slightly concerning.

Ariya sighed. “Solas found her wandering the Fade with a group of Spirits. Apparently she had been there for some time. He will be here in a few moments to elaborate on her situation.”

The eyes of the woman wearing the black bikini top narrowed. “So she is a spirit?” The woman looked back at Jo with a gaze intense enough to be disconcerting.

“No-” Ariya started, before she was interrupted by a woman wearing elaborate robes and a horned headpiece. She flung herself through the open door with a click of heels and a strong sense of authority. She was carrying a staff, her eyes flickered like flint and her lips were painted into a pout. 

“And yet the Fade clings to her body. Are you collecting more demon children, my dear? Are we to have a hoard of them at our disposal?” the woman spoke as she made her way past the door imperiously.

Demon children? The thought frightened Jo. She wasn’t a demon, was she? She didn’t even think she was a spirit. But what if she had died in the ruins? What if this turned into some Sixth Sense twist where she found out that, in reality, she had been dead all along? She looked down at her free hand in concern. It looked real… But then it would, wouldn’t it?

“Vivienne-” Ariya started to say with exasperation, but she was interrupted.

The red-headed woman frowned, and then looked at Ariya. “Who, exactly, will be privy to this information?”

Vivienne humphed, and cross her arms with a raised brow. “I heard the commotion and thought to investigate. Why? Is this a closed meeting?”

Amidst her own rising panic, Jo could see Ariya attempt to gain control of the situation. “No, it is not, but Leliana is concerned for security reasons. We have not verified her identity. She could be working for anybody. The less people she comes in contact with the better, until we know any differently”. The red-headed woman, who must be Leliana, nodded with approval.

So they did think her a spy? She thought about cages and prisons and medieval torture weapons as her breathing started to escalate. Because she knew they would not be able to verify an identity. She didn’t have one in Thedas. And they would hardly believe that she had come from another world… before she knew it she was hyperventilating, and her body temperature seemed to be too much. Jo attempted to pull some of the cloth from her head wrap over her eyes, but Cole had bound it too tightly. Her tangible thoughts spiraled into emotions. Fear. Anxiety. She missed the Fade so much. She wasn’t meant to be here. She wasn’t-

Jo saw two more people enter the room, and they both came for her. Cole grabbed her free hand and stated knowingly, “You’re not a demon. Even if you don’t feel real.” How did he know, though? How could she tell?

Solas reached up to feel her forehead, and then shot Cole a look of frustration and exasperation. “She has a fever, Cole. She needs to be kept warm, but these are too many blankets.” He started to unwrap her, which did nothing to help her panic. Jo didn’t realize until he started, but the blankets made her feel insulated. Protected. Now she was getting more exposed, both figuratively and literally, and what was she supposed to do…

Tears started to stream, and Cole started to panic. “No no no. You can’t. She doesn’t feel safe. Pulled through the rift in a ruin by a black hand, green, bleeding, spiraling, they will never believe her. Not from here, but with glimpses from here. She thinks she will be tortured.”

“Tortured? Why?” Solas asked with a furrowed brow, before turning around to look at the people present. His gaze stopped at Ariya. “You said she is to be tortured?”

“No!” Ariya denied vehemently, shaking her head. Everyone in the room seemed to be frowning.

“I still see no evidence that she is not a demon. Perhaps banishment would be more apropos?” Vivienne suggested coolly. 

Solas responded tersely, the frustration and anger obvious on his face, “Why would you think her a demon? This isn’t the first example of someone existing physically in the Fade. We know it to be possible.”

“Although unlikely. Our obvious exception aside, which we can all agree was extremely circumstantial to the point of possible divine intervention?”

“She is not a demon!” Cole stated adamantly, still clutching her hand.

“Spoken from the lips of our other resident demon child. And defended by our elven apostate with questionable origins. Hardly sources to be trusted…”

They thought Cole was a demon? But he wasn’t. Jo had spent enough time in the Fade to distinguish between the two, even in this plane. Jo could still feel pieces of the Fade cling to Cole, soft whispers that resonated the same vibrations that her encounter with a Spirit of Compassion had, but he was not a demon. And why did Vivienne bring up the fact Solas was elven as if that was a detriment? Jo’s hand tightened around the rogue and some of her panic cleared as indignation rose in response.

They were interrupted by another presence just inside the still open door. “Ah, guys? There seem to be a problem?” Jo saw a short man enter wearing a crossbow and proudly displaying a broad torso abundant with auburn chest hair.

Ariya looked very much like she had completely lost control of the situation, and Leliana looked as if she would very much like to close the door. Vivienne looked at the Inquisitor with a snide smile. “Might as well invite the entire Inquisition in here at this rate, darling.”

Ariya led off of that as if desperate to do something in order to reign everyone in. “Fine. I will be back with Dorian, Sera, Blackwall, and the Iron Bull, since it seems as if everyone wants to include their input. Please manage _some_ civility until I return.” She walked quickly out of the room, closing the door behind her, and the short man looked around in confusion.

“What did I miss?” he asked, zeroing in on Cole’s look of distress with concern.

Solas spoke up, scowling. “I found Jolina wandering the Fade a few days ago, and helped her cross into our plane. She was there physically, although she exhibits remarkable control of the space there. She is not-” Solas stopped for a moment to glare poignantly at Vivienne, “-a demon or a spirit.”

“Then how do you explain how the Fade clings to her?” the woman with the black bikini top asked, leaning against the wall with crossed arm.

Solas turned to her with hard eyes. “Wisdom said that she had been traveling in the Fade with her for years. I will admit that this is a peculiar situation, but due to that fact, none of us possess the means to justifiably evaluate and judge her existence. If we would even have a right to do that otherwise.”

The woman didn’t look convinced. “And what was she doing for all of those years in the Fade?”

Cole spoke up, turning to the short, stocky man with an imploring expression, “Varric, she just wants to help!” 

Jo agreed. That is what she had spent a majority of her time doing in the Fade, after all. Helping gave her purpose, made her feel as if she could be more than herself, so that even if she considered herself worthless, that is not all she would be. Cole seemed to follow that train of thought and looked back at her, obviously stricken.

Varric huffed. “So let me get this straight. Girl appears mysteriously out of the Fade, everyone suspects her intentions, a few plan to lock her up, but she just wants to help people. Now I know I drank a lot last night, but this story sounds familiar.”

“This is hardly the same situation, Varric,” the blond armored man spoke up for the first time, reaching up to rub the wrinkled between his eyebrows with a sigh.

“You are all making this more complicated than it needs to be.” Varric strode up to Jo, and Cole moved to the side, although he didn’t let go of her hand. He squeezed in response to the slight hysteria bubbling to the surface in Jo’s mind. Now what?

“Your name?” the dwarf asked.

“Jolina,” Jo responded.

“Jo,” Cole corrected, giving her a meaningful look. Jo frowned at him for a moment, before turning back to Varric.

“Do you intend to hurt anyone?”

Jo’s eyes widened as she visibly recoiled. Is that what they thought? “Of course not!”

“Who are you working for?” Varric stopped to cross his arms, and he looked at her solemnly.

“No one?” She couldn’t stop her response from sounding like a question.

“Would you like the opportunity to help more people?”

Jo’s eyebrows furrowed and she peered down at the short man, as if expecting a trick. “Of course?”

Varric instantly beamed. “Well, welcome to the Inquisition!” He stepped forward to pat her back the side opposite of Cole.

“Varric,” the armored woman with short, dark hair seemed to growl.

“She could be anyone,” Leliana maintained, looked at the four of them across the room with disapproval.

“She could be anything,” Vivienne corrected with a frown.

The door burst open then, and Ariya came in closely followed by the rest of her companions. A very tan man with a styled mustache was the first to speak, and it became obvious that the warrior elf had explained Jo’s situation on the way to the room. And that they had heard the group’s conversation from the other side of the door.

“Well there is an easy solution to determine that, isn’t there? We could attempt to bind her. And if it doesn’t work, we know she is who she says she is,” the mustached man suggested flippantly.

“Of course the Tevinter would immediately suggest blood magic,” Vivienne responded with a sneer.

The man frowned. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Banishment?” the woman reiterated coolly.

Meanwhile, Jo had started shaking. She took a step and pressed up against Cole’s shoulder, seeking comfort. Binding? Blood magic? Banishment? But what if she wasn’t real? What would happen to her? She remembered the corruption of the young man that had taken place in the Fade, and the way the spirits and demons had been distorted crossing the rift. Would she become corrupted too? Could they control her? What would they make her do?

Cole looked down at her in concern from underneath his wide hat. He seemed at a loss for what to do, pressing more firmly against her as he looked towards his apostate friend. “Solas?” he asked anxiously.

The elf frowned. “What is it, Cole?” he asked, stepping next to Varric to get a better look at Jo.

“They’re making her forget. She can’t remember being real. There’s too much in the way, the fear, the helplessness, the… not-knowing.” 

Cole couldn’t stop frowning, and Jo could feel how upset and angry he was. It was her fault wasn’t it? Because she couldn’t get a grip on herself, and now one of the only people to have defended her since her arrival was hurting. The guilt and self-hate tasted a lot like blood, and it took a few seconds for her to realize she had bitten lips that had been chapped and cracked on her way to Skyhold. She really could do nothing right.

“No!” Cole said looking back at Jo, and the feelings intensified. The blonde rogue tensed in frustration, and his grip on her hand became almost painful.

“Kid?” Varric asked, looking between the two of them cautiously.

“She feels bad for making me upset. But I’m not upset at _her_. So why does she feel bad?”

They were interrupted by a female elf with choppy blonde hair who had skipped over to the group. This must be Sera (the only remotely female name listed by Ariya before she left). She shoved herself in between Solas and Varric, using Varric’s head as a hand rest as she peered into Jo’s face. Both men looked at her obviously disgruntled. “Well, she looks creepy,” the woman decided loudly, the disgust pulling a frown.

“Really?” the mustached man sounded intrigued, and pulled himself forward to look at her face. A single brow raised as he looked back at Ariya, “Why is she wrapped from head to toe in blankets?”

With so many people crowded so close to her face, Jo felt anxiety pull through her in another wave. Hyperventilating, afraid at the flippancy with which they seemed to be deciding her fate, Jo shoved her face into Cole’s shoulder. Panicking, she tried to remember. If she was a spirit, she should be able to will herself back in the Fade, right? Or did it not work that way? She tried anyways in desperation, eyes squeezed shut, wishing… When everyone in front of her made noises of protest, she peeked just enough to see Solas standing protectively in front of her and Cole, pointing his staff towards everyone else in the room.

Blackwall spoke up from his position by the door, “If everyone could just calm down now…”

“Nobody will be binding anyone,” Solas stated fiercely, his staff still pointed forward.

“So she is a spirit?” the mustached man asked, frowning.

“No, she is human,” Solas responded, pursing his lips in frustration.

“Then she is a mage?”

Solas faltered at the question, and everyone seemed to be able to tell. “She says she is not.”

Vivienne felt the need the speak up again. “I would just like to state the impossibility of what you are suggesting-”

“Solas, put your staff down,” Ariya interrupted. The two elves stared at each other intently for a few moments, before Solas complied. “Thank you. Now there is no need to you to stand in front of them, we are hardly going to start practicing blood magic. Why this was even brought up…”

“That’s what I would like to know…” the tired, armored blond man muttered from the corner, his hand still on his brow, clearly exasperated.

Solas stepped away from Jo and Cole, staring unhappily at Sera, before the mustached man seemed to find an opening. Less than a second passed before he had twirled his own staff, sending a bolt of electricity towards them.

Time seemed to slow as Jo felt Cole tense and try to move in front of her. Solas swung his staff towards the Tevinter mage. Neither moved quickly enough, and in desperation, Jo threw her arms around Cole and tried to will a protection spell. She had never practiced magic outside of the Fade; she had no idea how to go about creating a ward. She had no idea that it would work. But she concentrated on how much she wanted to protect Cole, and remembered Hope, and tried to use that desperation to blot out the doubt and visualize a clear barrier around them that would deflect the bolt.

She heard a zing and a gasp, still tensed for pain, before someone called out, “See! She has already lied! Or were you lying to protect her, elf?”

She looked up from where she was still wrapped around the blonde rogue and saw a barrier shimmering a translucent blue.

“So she’s a mage?” 

“This still doesn’t prove anything. Demons can cast spells…” the woman with the black bikini top added.

Ariya interrupted, “Solas, I thought you said she wasn’t a mage.”

A sniff from Vivienne. “Well, she certainly wasn’t trained by a circle. Are we to be endorsing rogue mages, Inquisitor? And I agree with the witch. She could still be a demon child.”

Solas had turned to look at her, his eyes hard and his lips pursed. “Jolina?”

It was too much. Too much. Much too much. Seeing a barrier come out in the physical world from her will… She hadn’t been lying. She couldn’t manage more than a couple spells in the Fade, after what felt like weeks of instruction… So why in the world would she consider herself a mage? But what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t just let Cole get hurt. What were they going to do to her? And she was still not used to the light and noise, and all of these people speaking at once…. She didn’t even know what she looked like. She didn’t know what she was capable of. She didn’t know if she was alive. The combination of dissociation, fear, and Solas’ censure proved to be the tipping point, and she finally tipped over into full hysteria. Sobs came unbidden, and poor Cole bore the brunt of her feelings as her arms tightened around his waist.

The young man in question didn’t seem to mind her tears, although he seemed a little uncomfortable with her closeness. Or maybe it was the strength of her insistence? He shifted the woman in his arms so one arm could more comfortably fit around her shoulders, and slowly stopped tensing. He then addressed everyone, and if Jo had been more coherent, she would have been curious to see the look on his face.

“Stop. You are all hurting her. Jo is not a liar. Trying, grasping, fingers flexing, but spells don’t sit well within her mind, and the mind controls the fingers. Valor and Hope tried to teach her to use magic in the Fade, but she doesn’t think of herself as a mage. She doesn’t think she can do it. Not well enough to matter.”

“No,” the mustached man sounded indignant “You cannot simply decide to take up magic, as if it were some sort of _hobby_. You are either born with the ability or you are not. I have never heard anything more ridiculous… As if you could pick up magic simply by being in the Fade.”

Solas sounded considering. “Having magic would explain her aptitude as a dreamer, but Dorian is right.” There was a pause. “Cole, was she possessed in the Fade?”

“So she is an abomination.” The armored woman with short, dark hair stated. 

“She is not possessed,” Cole said firmly.

“I can’t help but notice that she isn’t speaking up in her own defense. Something to hide?” Leliana interjected. Jo’s sobs had quieted, but she made no move to leave Cole’s arms.

“You are all confusing her. She doesn’t know what to say,” Cole stated, upset. 

“I already asked the important questions,” Varric interceded, and Jo could hear that he had come to stand next to Cole. “You are all just nitpicking about her origins. But what kind of people would we be if we didn’t do the same in return? Would you like to start Solas? Vivienne? _Leliana?_ Let’s talk about where you came from and all of your experiences leading up to this point, because otherwise, you obviously can’t be trusted.”

“This is not the same thing. We have all already spoken to Leliana, for the safety of everyone. She can’t be excluded from that process,” the pretty woman in ruffles spoke up in Leliana’s defense. 

“I must be remembering my start in the Inquisition wrong then. It looks to me like the girl is being interrogated in front of sixteen people right now. A few of which have already called her names and threatened her with blood magic rituals. I know I am the forgetful sort, but I don’t remember any of that as part of the _process_.”

Ariya sounded frustrated. “It was not meant to be an interrogation! I just wanted everyone’s input on how to move forward!”

Still desperate, upset, afraid, and overwhelmed, Jo had an idea just then. She could die. Or try to die. And if she did die, then she could rejoin the Fade as a spirit. If she was already dead, then she would know she was dead, and would thus be able to move on. She didn’t think anyone here would really mind if she was gone- if anything they would be relieved. She felt the emotions present in the room just then; anger, resentment, distrust, confusion, anxiety. She would be helping. The actual act of dying scared her a little bit, but the dissociative block reinforced by the impossibility of her situation helped. After all, who was to say that she was real? And even if this was real, what help could she offer the Inquisition? What means did they have to actually send her home? And wouldn’t it be a better alternative than an attempted binding? Or possible torture? Better for her to leave.

It was easy to grab a handle from one of the daggers on Cole’s back, and she pulled back from his chest to give herself space to plunge it between her ribs when she was stopped by a frenetic blonde rogue.

“Stop it! What are you doing!”

They all turned to watch her, and everyone drew their weapons when they saw Jo had a dagger in her hand. She wasn’t paying attention to them, her face scrunched up in concentration as she attempted to wrangle the blade from Cole’s grip. 

“Let me-” she started, “No!” Cole interrupted. Jo stopped and looked into his face. “I want this. I would be helping. You would be helping. Just give me the dagger.”

“You don’t know what you want!” Cole cried out, before pulling the dagger from her grip, cutting her palm in the process. Jo looked at the red bubbling from her palm dispassionately for a few moments, before glaring at Cole. The rogue looked hysteric, guilty, concerned, and confused in equal measures, and turned to his friend to help. “She wants to kill herself! She thinks it will make everyone here happy. That she can go back to the Fade.”

“And why is this a bad idea?” Vivienne spoke up from across the room. Cole turned to her and glared. 

“You made her feel fake! Troubled and troubling, abandoned and worthless. She can’t realize what she is doing if she doesn’t think she’s real!”

“Why would she think she isn’t real? She’s here, bleeding, in pain, crying snot all of your sad excuse for a wardrobe…” Dorian suggested sounding snide, although he looked concerned.

“She doesn’t feel like her! Back home colored of old pain, red blows and blue thoughts. But inside, thoughtful, caring. A quiet strength. She wants to help, but doing that in the Fade is familiar. She is afraid of everyone here. Your feelings, your self too strong, so her own either flood or whisper,” Cole stopped to look at her, one hand still grasping the dagger, the other her wrist. He dropped the dagger with a clatter, and moved his hands to cup both cheeks. Peered into her eyes intently.

“You are real. You would know if you were a spirit. You could feel it. This is not your fault. And I would not be happy if you died,” the blonde rogue stated that last bit with feeling.

Jo felt stricken. And afraid. Indignant. Anxious. Sad. She felt like a vessel of sentiments, as if that is all her body was capable of holding at the moment. How can you be so sure? Still, just hearing that calmed some frenzied part of herself, and she felt comfortable leaning into his chest and contemplating her next move.

Ariya sounded tired as she took control of the conversation. “Alright, well I think she can stay, but she should be watched before we can determine who she is. And to make sure she doesn’t harm herself.” Jo saw the Inquisitor look meaningfully at Cole, Solas, Varric, and Blackwall in turn. Were they to be her keepers then?

She addressed Cole directly. “Cole, do you actually use the room assigned to you in the tavern?”

“I do not need to sleep,” he responded.

“Right, well do you mind if she uses that room until we can get everything figured out?”

Cole sounded solemn. “We will be there.”

Ariya sighed, just as several members in the group started to verbally protest. 

“My dear, I really must object. You could be putting the safety of the entire inquisition in jeopardy-”

“So now there is a boy Creepy thing and a girl Creepy thing? Ugh, why?”

“Don’t turn to me when she turns out to be some demon that attacks us in our bed-”

“Why did you ask us here if you weren’t going to hear everyone’s opinion?”

Ariya sounded fierce. “You put me in charge as your leader. I brought everyone here because I can admit that you all possess expertise in areas that I do not, but in the end I am to make the final judgments regarding who is or is not accepted to join our cause. Please respect this.” Jo could hear the elf’s footsteps as she exited the room.

Jo looked up from Cole’s chest to see Varric and Solas standing there. “Come on,” the elven apostate said to Cole, gesturing to the two of them. The look he gave her was dispassionate, but Jo could feel the confusion, curiosity, and resentment.

Jo felt strung-out, and existed in a state of tired apprehension. What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I would just like to state that I am not in any way endorsing/condemning/commenting on the act of suicide. Jo is extremely disoriented, and suffering from severe bouts of depression, anxiety, and disassociation. But things will be looking up for our archaeologist.
> 
> On another note, thank you for your kudos and comments! They reassure me that my work isn't too awful. ;)


	5. The Painted Atrium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo begins moving forward within the Inquisition.

“Anyone can hide. Facing up to things, working through them, that's what makes you strong.” ― Sarah Dessen

**Chapter 5: The Painted Atrium**

Jolina stared in awe as she walked into an atrium half-filled with beautiful wall murals. They were large, the paint vibrant in color, and the images beautiful in expression. As someone who had dabbled with paint with varying degrees of success, Jo could appreciate the mastery needed to create such images.

If she hadn’t felt like a prisoner trudging to their execution, she might have said something. As it was, she was too consumed by a frightened and confused sense of apprehension. Cole helped. She briefly considered letting go, afraid that she was making him uncomfortable, but he just grasped her hand tighter. It was no small saving grace at this moment, to have such an ally in this place. She wondered how she would be able to pay him back.

Solas walked up to his chair and moved it so the back was facing the closest mural. “Sit,” he stated, his voice still containing that hint of steel. Jo sat.

“This is what we are going to do. I am going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer. You, not Cole. Cole, let her answer.”

Cole frowned at Solas, and Varric felt the need to add, “Now Solas, I think you might be taking this a little too far…”

“Varric,” Solas made his name sound like a warning. Jo wondered at seeing this side of the man. So far he had seemed generally genial and helpful, if a bit understated. Now he was acting almost overly assertive and aggressive. Was Solas the type of man that was able to compartmentalize these kind of emotions, or was his frustration with her letting his true self come out to play? Cole looked at her curiously, obviously aware of her thought process.

“Can you perform magic?” His gaze was intense, and his tone sardonic.

“Kind of?” Jo answered. Obviously, that demonstration in the room with the map established that she was capable. But she had little to no training, and even less faith. It was hard to trust something that she had been brought up to believe impossible. There was no intuitive reception. She felt the struggle. 

“Do you consider yourself a mage?” Solas asked, and Jo felt herself relax a fraction. The elven man had obviously paid attention to what Cole had alluded to, and was responding accordingly. So perhaps this conversation would not be as unreasonable as the last one?

“No,” Jo answered honestly, although she knew it would have been easier to lie.

Solas looked upset and dissatisfied. “Is there something that happened coming into the Fade that could have prompted a change?”

“Maybe? I told you I was pulled through a rift, although I don’t see how that would automatically entail magical abilities. After all, Ariya is hardly a mage.” Jo had heard about Ariya’s circumstances while their group was traveling to Skyhold. The difference between their experiences was… disturbing. How in the world could she have adopted these traits?

“Where did you enter the Rift?” 

“In some ruins I was studying. It was in the middle of the complex.” Jo squeezed Cole’s hand nervously. 

“Which ruins, exactly?”

“The Caracol Mayan Ruins in Belize.”

Solas’ frown was disgruntled. “And this is a place from your world.”

“Yes.”

“Did the rift appear before you? Do you know how long it existed there? Do you have any reason to believe the rifts opened up any other worlds besides yours and Thedas?”

Comforted by the feel and pressure of Cole’s hand in her own, Jo attempted to draw strength from it as she admitted to her ignorance. “I have no idea. How long that rift was there, why it was there, or if there are any other worlds.”

Solas looked as if he was processing this, and orated his thoughts as if considering its merit. “Still, I had never considered that a rift might have the ability to act as a bridge to places outside of Thedas. After all, rifts act as tears in the veil, which is what is responsible for separating this plane from the Fade. This would insinuate that the presence of the Veil, or merely a characteristic of the Fade, allows for this kind of connection. Was there magic in your world?”

Jo thought uncomfortably of all of the stories of magic that existed, and considered whether or not it might have existed in some form at some time. Still, she didn’t want to give him suppositions. “No. Only in stories.”

Solas looked disturbed at the thought. “No magic?” Jo turned curiously to peer at Varric, who had been silent this whole time, but he was gazing at her in discomforted disbelief. Jo frowned and felt guilty for the fear and worry radiating from his being, but was distracted when Cole squeezed her hand again. It brought her outside of her despair, and forced her attention back on Solas. She squeezed back, hoping he could feel her gratitude.

Solas looked almost excited as he considered his situation. “Or perhaps there is simply something present that suppresses it? Something similar to the Veil, but more powerful? So your entry into the Fade acted more like a catalyst energizing a latent ability, rather than a more fundamental change to your person?”

Jo considered that it might be possible. Although she had little knowledge about how such a thing could occur, so she knew anything they came up with was nothing more than conjecture. Although there was one hole to this theory that Jo could not stop herself from bringing up. “If magic is suppressed in my world, then why was there a Rift present? Wouldn’t a stronger Veil make this kind of disturbance improbable?”

Solas gave her that slightly surprised nod of approval that he had given in the Fade. “That idea holds some merit, although I imagine that there are places and times in which the Veil is thinner, as it is in our world. Perhaps those ruins could even be a testament to the presence of magic long forgotten.”

“It’s possible,” Jo admitted, “although I do not know nearly enough about this to consider anything outside of hypotheticals.”

“What did you feel when you came across the Rift?” Solas asked, his focus on her rather unnerving.

“It called to me. Almost like a song. Whispers and then voices, their feelings coming out in the tone and intensity.” She shivered, just remembering what it had been like to stare into the green hole. The sound. The pull.

Solas nodded. “That could be evidence of a magical ability already present before you entered the Fade. Unless you hear the same thing would you come close to a Rift, Master Tethras?”

The dwarf was still staring at her uneasily. “No, nothing like that.”

Solas seemed to nod to himself, before he noticeably paused and then gazed at her with narrowed eyes. 

“She is not lying,” Cole spoke up from beside her. Jo couldn’t blame him for having doubts. He was obviously a very intelligent man; she might have thought less of him if he had accepted everything she had to say at face-value.

Solas raised one eyebrow at the blonde rogue, before stepping closer to take her backpack. Jo pulled it against her chest defensively and glared. She could accept the need to be interrogated, but that did not mean they needed to go through her personal belongings. What few earthly possessions she still had left.

Solas’ eyes once again became steel at her refusal. “Something to hide?” He sounded like Leliana.

Jo frowned. “No. But does my situation merit the need to violate what little agency I still have? Do I not deserve even a modicum of privacy?”

Solas seemed taken aback, as if confused that his actions could be taken that way. “ _Ir abelas_. I did not realize.” He then sighed, and leaned back against his desk with his arms crossed.

There was silence for a few seconds, everyone’s brows deep with consideration, before Jo felt the need to ask a question. “How, exactly, should I help the Inquisition?”

Solas pursed his lips in thought. “What were you doing before you entered the Fade?”

“I was a student. Studying to become an Anthropologist.”

The elven apostate tilted his head curiously at the unfamiliar term. “Anthropologist?” 

“An anthropologist is a professional who studies people. There are different subfields, but an anthropologist might look at differing cultural traditions and habits between communities, study how the biology of our bodies has changed over time, or research the evolution of language, both in terms of changes in meaning and physical expression. And an archaeologist is an anthropologist that studies the past, who goes into ruins and attempts to understand ancient civilizations with the hopes of edifying their struggles and increasing their relevance, so the general understanding of history and the world is improved as a whole. Of course there is some merging that occurs; one of my professors was a paleo-pathologist, who found ancient skeletons and investigated the remains for signs of disease. It oftentimes manifested on the skeleton in some way, and helps us to gain a better understanding of the prevalence of certain diseases, their possible cultural relevance at the time, and the relationship between disease and human evolution.” Jo said this all rather breathlessly, and with growing enthusiasm. She loved Anthropology. It was holistic and malleable and relevant and fascinating…

Solas seemed amused. “So you are a scholar?”

Jo was brought back to herself, and wrinkled her nose as she thought about it. “I suppose. Although in my culture that is an esteemed term. And I am still a student.”

Solas smiled wryly. “Such modesty. How long have you been studying?”

“Over my entire education?” Jo clarified. Solas nodded. “Almost my entire life. Sixteen years? I started when I was five.”

Solas looked taken aback, but fascinated. “Does everyone in your culture study for this long?”

Jo nodded. “Just about. There is compulsory education mandated until you are sixteen, so that guarantees at least eleven years, but just about everyone finishes after at least thirteen.”

“What about your warriors? I doubt your society could survive only containing scholars.”

Jo pursed her lips, and responded thoughtfully, still quiet. “Yes, we have a military, although individuals are only recruited after they are eighteen. This education style was thought to be necessary in order to promote the country’s political ideologies, which operated as a Representative Democracy. Our founding principles were in freedom, equity, and the potential for social mobility. And in order to improve a higher standard of living and cultivate ingenuity and innovation, we needed a baseline. So every generation became literate and was taught the knowledge of our forebearers so that we would be better equipped to make improvements and further our study.”

Jo shrugged before she continued. “Of course, this was also a useful way for the state to indoctrinate its citizens with specific information that would promote feelings of nationalism and unity. History retold from a certain perspective that omitted some of the more unsavory truths.”

Solas’ eyes were bright with interest. “Fascinating. And what would make someone a scholar?”

Jo’s lips quirked as she thought about it. “A lifetime of study. A certain mastery of their subject. And the pursuit of knowledge, the need to research and learn more. At least 25 years?” 

This conversation was beginning to remind Jo of her many discussions with Wisdom. She felt a pang of loss. Cole responded, and there was another exchange of hand squeezes.

“Hm,” Solas hummed, considering… something. Jo had no idea what.

Varric spoke up, bringing the conversation back on topic, and Jo was glad to see he didn’t look as disturbed. “Can you fight?”

Jo nodded, feeling a little more confident with this skill set. “Valor taught me in the Fade.”

Varric frowned. “How many spirits did you meet?” He seemed uncomfortable with the idea. Did he have an unsavory experience with a spirit in the past? 

“Wisdom. Valor. Faith. Hope. Justice. Compassion.” It was a pity she never got the opportunity to meet Purpose. Wisdom had spoken highly of the spirit. Jo wondered what change that might have wrought. Would she be less confused, less apprehensive about her situation if she had a definable purpose? She wanted to help people, but even she could admit that her efforts in the Fade had been rather lackluster compared to her spirit friends. And there were so many ways to help, it seemed too vague a purpose to give her the motivation she needed to push out of the dissociation and depression.

“Huh,” was Varric’s uneloquent reply, and Jo thought he looked a bit queasy. 

“She should practice her skills. Find ways to help,” Cole mentioned from her side.

The other two men nodded. Jo bit her split lip nervously as they plotted out a training regimen.

“Can you use a sword?” Varric paused their conversation to ask. She nodded, and then Solas and Varric planned a time for her to meet Blackwall in order to get some instruction, and to evaluate where she stood. Then she was to meet Varric for the same purpose, only with a bow. And then she was to meet Solas to see if he could help her become more in-tune with her magic. They turned to Cole.

“Well, Kid? Did you want to help her with daggers? We need to see what kind of fighter she is going to be if we decide we want to bring her out into the field with us. I have a feeling Nightingale and Curly are going to want us to keep her close.”

Cole nodded. “I will help.”

Jo sighed, once again feeling a sense of nervous anticipation (or was it really dread?) bubble in her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter will be going up in a few hours... this one much more substantial. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> And as always, thank you for reading. And for the lovely kudos and comments. It gives me encouragement. :)


	6. Getting Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo begins to settle in Skyhold.

“Since I was young, I have always known this: Life damages us, every one. We can’t escape that damage. But now, I am also learning this: We can be mended. We mend each other” ― Veronica Roth

**Chapter 6: Getting Around**

The next week proved to be the most intense of Jolina’s admittingly young life. She met Blackwall in the morning to practice using a sword. While they had established that she could remember and reproduce the basics to his satisfaction (her grip, the way she kept her center of gravity, her footwork), if became obvious that most of the subtleties of the craft were beyond her. She was also constantly having to readjust because of the differences between here and the Fade. Her sword was too heavy to lift and strike comfortably, the cling of the metal too loud. In fact, her entire being felt heavier.

She had asked Solas about this when she went to see him that night in the Fade. He hadn’t sounded surprised.

“You were able to compensate through these difficulties with your will alone. That made you stronger, faster. More skilled. But everything in the Fade is merely a reflection. You would not be able to reproduce your efforts to the same effect outside of the Fate. It will take hard work and a lot of practice. You will need to build up the strength in your muscles.”

Jo was disturbed that this manipulation occurred without her conscious thought, and told Solas as much. “But I wasn’t trying to be stronger or faster? I thought the ability to will something to happen could only happen as a result of a purposeful, conscious effort?”

Solas had shaken his head, but he didn’t seem to disapprove of her question. “It doesn’t need to happen consciously. Plenty of your will is imposed subconsciously. You consciously wanted to be more skilled, and your subconscious understood that it would require more strength and agility, and attempted to will those abilities to that effect. There are other examples too, though. When you were attempting to recreate the memory with the tree full of light, did you consciously think of all of those details? Or did you have a general idea, and some of the details were filled in naturally?”

Jo had nodded. That made sense, although it made her a little uncomfortable to know she had been doing this outside of her control.

They had also spent some time talking about Cole. Jo had related to Solas what she felt when she was around Cole in confusion- how he felt like the Fade, but not quite like a spirit. Solas corrected her by stating quite adamantly that he _was_ a spirit.

“Cole is a spirit of compassion that crossed over from the Fade and physically manifested his own body. He is unique- as far as I am aware, all other spirits are required to possess individuals on this plane in order to survive with any kind of corporality.”

“But isn’t he more than a spirit? Compassion can still be his purpose, but he is here, with a body, having new experiences and feeling new things. As far as I understand it, a spirit embodies one concept, but doesn’t this circumstance demand more of him? So why would he stay a spirit?”

Solas seemed displeased with the thought. “You shouldn’t discount his purpose so readily. It is his purpose after all. The reason for his existence. The means by which he dictates the nature of his social relationships and the way he interacts with the world around him.”

“But would that purpose alone have led to the manifestation of a body? In which case, wouldn’t every spirit of Compassion eventually find its way to Thedas?”

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“That he was already something more, which is why is now exists as he does. If he is truly unique, then he cannot be considered simply a spirit. Especially considering how invested he seems in learning. Which is something that goes beyond his purpose-”

“Learning how to better help people, which is fully within his purpose-”

“No, learning about the ways of the world. And he cares about things other than helping people in need. As demonstrated with his fondness for his hat. His preference for relaxing in the tavern. Even his fondness for Varric. These are personal investments he makes that do not revolve around helping people, but that are still important to him-”

“He uses the hat in order to avoid detection, because he believes that it is a better means with which to help. And he likes the tavern because there are many people there to aid-”

“Did you hear him yesterday when he asked Dorian if he was handsome? Why would a spirit of compassion care if it was physically attractive?”

“Perhaps he realized that he would have better luck approaching people and offering assistance if he looked more approachable?”

Jo stared at the elf in exasperation. “It’s fine if you don’t see it. But I believe he is more.” 

*

Later, Jo wished all of her interactions with Solas had been this productive. Even if they had not necessarily agreed.

Their first meeting outside of the Fade was spent attempting to ascertain if she could locate magic by feel. That had gone well. She appeared to be very sensitive to magic, although Solas was a little disturbed to hear that Jo could feel emotions or sentiments attached to the wards, glyphs, and spells.

The next day was spent trying to get Jo to feel her own magic. That had been more difficult. This had been something brought up by her spirit friends in the Fade, and they had shown her the subtle ripples sent out from her frame that seemed to instigate change. Wisdom had informed her that these visible vibrations were a result of the manifestation of her magic. But this method did not translate well outside of that place; she was not able to see the ripples in Thedas. And she couldn’t recognize her own magic by feel. In fact, it was difficult to feel her magic at all; the power and tightening in her chest felt so much like anxiety that Jo convinced herself she was suffering from a panic attack, and then Solas could do little more than watch her hyperventilate as she attempted to calm herself down.

By the third day of this, Solas was visibly frustrated. He instead attempted to get her to cast the few spells she was familiar with, but she couldn’t make anything happen. And the longer that nothing happened, the more doubt blossomed in her chest that convinced her that this had all been a mistake. Surely what had happened in the war room was a fluke? Or perhaps her power was so weak that she was only capable of producing something in moments of sheer desperation?

He had eventually resorted to copying Dorian’s approach, and threw a ball of flame at her chest. She saw it coming, and had panicked, put her hands in front of her breasts… but no barrier had appeared, and Jo had screamed as the flames ate away at the exposed skin on her arms, hands, and chest. The tears came on like a torrent, and with them a flare of emotions that hurt almost as much as the burned flesh- disappointment, fear, embarrassment, doubt, anxiety…

And then Cole had appeared by her side, seemingly out of nowhere, and although his gentle touch on her blistered fingers had caused her to cry out, she was so glad he was there… She heard the rogue admonish the mage, obviously upset, his lips pulled into a deep frown under his large hat… She had looked towards Solas to see his reaction, but suddenly there was another fire ball rushing towards Cole’s back, and Jo didn’t think even as she gripped the hem of Cole’s shirt in fear just as a barrier appeared that easily dissolved the ball of fire.

Jo couldn’t breathe. She was caught somewhere between sobbing from the shock, shaking from the panic, and vomiting from the pain. She could barely hear Cole, who sounded angrier than she had ever heard him.

“What are you doing?! You’re hurting her!”

Solas sounded frustrated as he defended himself. “Nothing else was working! How can I be blamed for the fact that she apparently cannot perform magic unless you are in danger?” He walked up to her, but Cole moved so that he stood between them. Solas snapped, “I need to heal the burns.”

Cole moved so he was positioned at her back, and started patting her head like she had seen him do with a nug the day prior. Solas started healing her burned fingers, and made his way up her arms. The healing magic itself was soothing, and through it she could feel Solas’ remorse and frustration. She reached out to touch the mages hand.

“I’m so sorry.” She could still feel herself shaking, although the pain was rapidly receding. Solas frowned and shook his head.

“ _Ir abelas_. I hurt you. This… is rather unusual. The self-preservation instinct is typically very strong. Even the most inexperienced mages are capable of defensive or offensive magic if their life is in danger. It happens naturally. But you…”

Cole orated her thoughts, his hand resting heavily on her head. Jo found the weight comforting.

“She doesn’t like herself. She doesn’t put any worth on her life. And she still doesn’t really believe in magic.”

The elf looked at her in disbelief after that proclamation. “Why?” he asked her.

Jo frowned, trying to organize her thoughts. “I’m still not entirely sure this is real? I don’t feel real. Although the pain helped.” Solas’ expression didn’t change, and Jo felt the need to elaborate. “This all seems rather impossible? And I have some mental illnesses that I suffered from in my world that are not helping. I have a tendency towards anxiety and depression, and sometimes I get into dissociative episodes.”

“Dissociative episodes?” Solas sounded confused.

Jo elaborated. “Technically diagnosed as Depersonalization-derealization Disorder. I was told it was a coping mechanism I developed as a kid as a result of being bullied and having a shitty home life. I learned to deal with trauma by distancing myself from the pain and rationalizing it as not real or not a part of my personal experience, but now my mind does this automatically.”

Solas’ lips were pursed and considering. “What reason would you have to feel worthless?”

Jo felt her hand tighten on Cole’s hem as she responded. “That’s what I’ve been told my entire life. Kind of difficult to dispute in that circumstance.”

The mage sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Any other difficulties you would like to share?”

Jo felt herself bite her recently healed lip in apprehension. “I’m having issues because, what I think is my magic feels like a panic attack? My chest aches and feels uncomfortably tight, and there is tension in my limbs… but I don’t know how to let go? In my world when this happened there was nothing I could do. The pressure just pooled until I felt ready to scrape the skin off my forearms with my fingernails, but there was nowhere for that energy to go.”

Solas tilted his head from that admission. “So you panic and try to hold it because you are unfamiliar with any safe, reliable method of release?” It sounded like a rhetorical question as rested fingers on his chin in thought. “Cole? You and Varric can take her for the rest of today. I have an idea, but I need some time to put everything in place.”

Cole nodded, and led her away.

*

Jo’s experiences training with Cole had been interesting, but not very effective. They were both extremely hesitant to accidentally hurt the other, so their first sparring session turned into forty minutes of nervous circling and only a few half-hearted attempts at striking and dodging before Cole backed off and Jo followed. Varric eventually interrupted them.

“You guys, this is painful to watch. Kid, she can’t learn if you don’t attack.”

Cole responded to him, still looking at Jo. “She doesn’t really want me to attack. Clinging metal too loud, colors swirl, please don’t let him hurt me too. But I want to help.” Jo felt her cheeks color after hearing the admission, embarrassed at her weakness.

Varric let out an exaggerated sigh, before coming towards her, making a grand demonstration of taking her in hand. Jo felt amusement curl the edges of her lips up. “Well then, I guess I’m going to have to step in. Come on Peaches, let’s see what you can do with a bow.”

“Peaches?” Jo asked as the three of them made their way to the armory.

Varric nodded. “Sweet, but you seem to bruise easy. And just look at that blush.” Jo colored at the description, which had obviously been his intention.

Her attempts with a bow had been a repeat of her experience with Blackwall. Varric complimented her form, but she lacked the strength to keep the notched arrow even enough to hit the target. Her attempts strained her already sore shoulders, and her biceps and triceps were constantly burning now. After what felt like her 50th fumble, Varric called it quits.

“Alright, well it seems the obvious first step for you would be to build up your strength. I will talk with Ariya to see if we can get you in with the recruits. The exercises they are working on focus on building up the strength to hold a sword. And if you find the time, I suggest finding a space to run in order to build up some stamina.”

Jo had nodded, thinking that he would seek out the Inquisitor sometime soon, but he immediately took her and Cole and marched right up to Ariya. She stopped her sparring session with the short-haired armored woman to stare at the three of them in bemusement, sweat dripping down her face. “Yes, Varric?”

Varric wasted no time getting to the heart of the matter. “Peaches here is weaker than water. I suggest she be trained with some of the new recruits in order to build up some muscle.

The armored woman immediately grimaced. “She’s a mage, Varric.”

“A mage, who according to Chuckles, isn’t capable of magic. And she needs to know how to defend herself.”

Ariya looked at them dispassionately. And then sighed. “Fine, but I want one of you with her just in case. Leliana is still waiting to hear back from her informants, and in the meantime I want everyone to be safe.” She turned to look at Jo, “I will talk with Commander Cullen, but you should prepare to join them at the start of next week.”

Jo had nodded, and softly stated, “Thank you Inquisitor.” What else could she say? Both of them appeared to be powerful, intimidating women. They had both nodded, and resumed their spar.

By that time the sun was just about setting, and Varric took her and Cole to the tavern to get something to eat.

“I don’t eat,” Cole seemed to remind Varric as they sat down at a table together.

Varric ignored him. “So, what do you like?” he asked Jolina, motioning to the dwarf behind the counter for a menu. The man seemed to scowl at them for a few beats, before grudgingly slapping a couple of menus down on the table and sauntering away. This was the first time Jo had been in the tavern; for the last few days she had been picking at whatever food was lying around in unattended plates in the main Reception Hall.

“What do they have?” Jo asked, looking down at the menu. She always had a difficult time deciding what to eat.

“A little bit of this, a little bit of that,” he responded offhandedly. Jo saw that Cole looked uncomfortable and frowned. 

“Do they have cookies?” Jo asked.

“Cookies?” Varric asked, sounding both confused and amused. Jo nodded. Varric relented. “Sure, why not…” He went to the counter and made their order after dropping off the menus, and sat back down with little aplomb as he stared at Jo curiously, his brow raised. Jo ignored him in favor of looking around.

The tavern was comparable to a large rustic restaurant from her world. There were two large floors with a multitude of tables, and the third floor was made up of a row of doors that seemed to contain inn rooms. A pretty woman played music in a far corner, strumming a lute almost lazily. A large group of armored men and women dominated one corner of the inn, laughing boisterously and chugging ale, accompanied by an extremely large man with large horns protruding from his forehead. Jo stopped and stared. Sweet baby Jesus, what kind of person was that? No one seemed to be panicking… 

Cole spoke up from beside her. “That is The Iron Bull.”

The name rang a bell, and Jo realized this must have been one of the men Ariya pulled into the room with the map earlier. How did she not see _that?_

More than a little perturbed, Jo continued to look around. There were also plenty of soldiers in conversation. It was loud, but the emotions were nice- merriment, security, togetherness. Good vibes.

It took only a few minutes for their plates to be dropped off, and when they were Jo had to laugh. She could tell they were cookies, objectively, but what she had received was not at all what she was expecting. They looked like mushy biscuits containing pieces of dried fruit. She bit into it experimentally. Not bad, if a bit bland and not at all sweet compared to what she was used to. In fact, it tasted like some of those really expensive health bars you could get at a specialty market. 

Hm. This wouldn’t work. She had thought to return the favor to Cole by feeding him something he might like (he looked like he would be the type to have a sweet tooth). After all, it wasn’t that he really didn’t eat, right? He was probably just really picky?

She would need to try something else. After a trip to the kitchens. And possibly a word to someone with some social clout. Hm.

Varric looked amused at her disgruntlement. “Not what you were expecting?”

Jo let out a huff. “Cookies in my world are not at all like this. Do you think the people in the kitchen would let me use their oven if I wanted to bake something myself?”

Varric looked surprised. “You bake?”

Jo raised her own brow in return. “Yes?”

“But you are not a baker?”

“No?”

“Huh,” Varric replied, before biting into his meal with gusto. “They might. Although you are going to have to figure out when they keep fire in the oven.” Hm, another complication. Jo nodded in thanks.

Soon Jo and Cole headed up to his room after wishing Varric a good night. This night had proceeded similar to the three previous. Jo had slipped off all of her clothes and quickly donned a tank top and capri leggings (some of the only clothes she had thought to put in her backpack) pretending that Cole couldn’t see her. She had attempted to ask him to leave her first night, but it seemed he took his job as her keeper quite seriously. Either that or she hadn’t quite communicated what she wanted amidst her embarrassment.

In any case, she hurried through her nighttime ablutions in order to scurry under the covers, mostly because it was so cold in the room without the layers of leather the Inquisition had equipped her with (after they had convinced her to part with the blankets). Shivering until her body heated beneath the cloth, Jo retrieved her music box from her backpack as Cole settled himself next to her on top of the covers. She wound up the box, thinking of the ballet that had inspired the tune, as she and Cole settled into a contentful comradery.

This night, however, Cole broke the silence before she could pass out.

“It’s pretty,” the blonde rogue offered when the tune finished, and although she could not see his face from this angle underneath his hat, Jo thought she could hear him smiling.

“Mmhmm,” Jo agreed, before she nervously asked a question that had been on her mind as she attempted to find a purpose within the Inquisition. “Cole? Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes.” She wondered what it was like to be asked questions he already heard in people’s heads.

“How do you help people?”

“I listen,” he said, fidgeting with his fingers.

That made sense, but… “How do you listen without losing yourself?” Jo remembered breaking down in the Fade. Helping sometimes hurt, especially when she already _felt_ so much…

His fingers stilled. “But helping them is what makes me _me_. It helps me _find_ myself.”

“But sometimes it hurts?” Jo was very hesitant to bring this point up, mostly because she knew how much he must have suffered associating with her the past week, but she had to know.

His head came forward in a nod, and then, “But helping matters more.”

“I’m sorry Cole,” Jo stated sadly. She really wanted to make things easier for him, but it was hard to do when she felt so powerless. Although she knew that thinking this way was bordering compliance… this train of thought caused her to remember the connotations associated with _learned helplessness_ , which made her feel like rebelling for some sense of independence-

The hat moved from side to side. “Don’t be sorry. I like helping.”

Still… “How do you think I should help?”

There was silence and Jo imagined him frowning. Finally, he said, “Don’t worry. Even trying helps.”

Jo let out a small, frustrated huff, before winding up the music box again and throwing her head into the pillow.

She heard Cole state, “Don’t worry, Jo. It will work out,” before she felt a few fingers thread through her hair (it really did feel like she was being pet, but it felt so good she didn’t say anything). Before she knew it, she had fallen asleep.

*

The next morning Jo woke up to see Cole sitting by the single window located at the far end of the room, watching the changing colors as the sun slowly came up. Her mouth felt dry and her eyes crusty, but it took a few minutes to recognize what might be wrong. No impromptu lesson from Solas in the Fade. Instead her dreams were barely remembered flashes of an old nightmare that she could barely remember. So this didn’t happen every night? It felt… decidedly odd. She had enjoyed waking from the Fade, comforted by the familiar… something that made up that place. But now…

Trying to shake off the discomfort she addressed Cole. “What do you do while everyone is sleeping?”

“Listen to dreams,” he stated despondently, not turning to face her.

Jo became slightly concerned at his tone. “Cole? Is something wrong?”

“No,” he stated, but it almost sounded as if he was… pouting?

Jo frowned. She got out of bed, and took a few steps towards him. “Cole?”

Silence, and Jo saw his shoulders tense slightly at her approach. Perturbed, she took those few extra steps and lifted up the edge of his hat as she peeked around to see his face. He was frowning, but what drew her attention was the dark bruise circling his right eye.

Jo gasped, and gently outlined the edge of his bruise with her fingertips. “Cole, what happened?”

His lips were definitely pouting, and his pale blue eyes were narrowed. “You hit me.”

“While I was asleep?” Jo clarified gently. He nodded. “Oh, honey,” she exclaimed at his look, before holding herself awkwardly in front of the blonde rogue, tempering the impulse to throw her arms around him. She eventually settled for reaching for his hand and giving it a worried squeeze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she muttered into the space above his shoulder, but the rogue seemed rather uncomfortable. 

She let go, feeling self-conscious, and made a show of righting his hat. “Just let me change and we can ask Solas to heal that bruise for you.” Feeling bemused, she quickly changed into the soft leather. In no time at all the pair of them were heading towards the Rotunda, although Jo paused in the Reception Hall long enough to grab some fresh fruit.

Solas looked surprised to see them so early, pausing in the middle of a paint stroke. His eyes narrowed in on Cole’s bruise rather quickly, and he shot her a dark look. “What happened?”

Jo felt like sighing. There was so little trust here. Jo wondered if she could ever get used to feeling like she was walking on pins and needles. “I accidentally hit Cole while I was having a nightmare. Can you heal him?”

Solas’ look became considering. “This actually suits rather well for our purposes today. Do you think you would be capable of healing him yourself?”

Jo felt something drop in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t know how,” she admitted, looking pointedly at the pattern of the rug that lay above the stone floor.

She heard the elf descend from the scaffold and approach the two of him. “Jolina,” he stated, and Jo’s gaze shot up to meet his. “Do not think about technique for right now. I want to get an idea of what you can do intuitively. Just try.”

Jo remembered Cole’s words from last night, and felt slightly bitter. Just try? Because, obviously, nothing could go wrong…

She took a fortifying breath and turned to Cole. He looked solemn. “I really am sorry,” she told him, and then concentrated on her want to heal him, ignoring the familiar tension as the muscles tightened in her arms. She wanted to make him better, to heal the marred skin that she had damaged unconsciously. She wanted to show that she cared about her potential new friend…

She reached out tentatively to touch his cheek, and both Jo and Cole let out a gasp as her magic jumped to her command, immediately streaming up his skin to flood and heal the area around his eye. The healing finished with an almost inaudible pop, and Jo snatched her hand back as if her fingers had been scalded. She turned to look at Solas with wide, apprehensive eyes, feeling overwhelmed.

Solas nodded, coming up to inspect her work. “How does it feel Cole?” he asked.

Cole was looking at her when he answered, “Power stretching, curling, mandated, released. She felt relief, but fear because it was _real_. The guilt tasted sour, but the purpose was clear, and at the end… friend?” He looked confused but he sounded hopeful, and Jo knew instantly what he was asking.

“If you would like?” she responded, not paying Solas any mind.

Cole grinned tumultuously as he said, “Yes,” and Jo couldn’t help but grin at him in return. She felt ridiculously happy; she had had these moments in her previous life, but more often than not they turned out poorly. People teasing her, or people who quickly determined that being her friend had social detriments. But she trusted Cole.

Solas interrupted their moment with little remorse. “You seem to have done a satisfactory job on Cole. Now we will determine whether or not your healing powers can be used on others. Shall we make our way to the infirmary?”

“The infirmary?” Jo repeated nervously. She would need to attempt to use her uncontrolled and inconsistent magical abilities on the vulnerable sick and dying? How utterly nerve wracking.

Solas gave her a sardonic smirk. “Of course. Where else do you expect to find those in need of healing?”

Jo gave him her own version of a pout, which caused his smirk to stretch as he led the three of them out of the rotunda. Jo ate her piece of fruit as they walked across the courtyard in silence, surprised to see how active everyone was this early in the morning. A stable boy was washing a beautiful mare by the stables, Cassandra was hacking away at practice dummies with a sword, and a beautifully dresser seller was putting out her wares. Cassandra, the short-haired armored woman she met a few days previously, had been introduced by Varric, and he had rather a lot to say about the woman. Mostly good things, but her deeds sounded rather fantastical. Although Jo was getting the idea that that was just Varric’s brand of storytelling. 

Several minutes of stone steps later, which had Jo breathing a bit harder than she wanted to admit, they made it into the infirmary.

The surgeon got up to meet them as they came through the door. “Ah, Solas. I was expecting you. Just not this early.”

Solas smiled at him as if he made it a point to enjoy inconveniencing others. “Is there someone here you think would be suitable?”

The surgeon nodded, and led the group to a small cot set up in the corner of the infirmary. On the cot lay a small girl with a bound leg and a sweaty forehead. “She was brought in here a few days ago, but her leg is rotting and I haven’t managed to break the fever. Two rounds of bloodletting and an infusion of Gurgut bile has proven ineffective.”

Jo turned to the surgeon in disturbed astonishment. “Bloodletting?” Thedas was still utilizing the Humoral theory?

The surgeon raised a brow and sneered. “One of the most modern medical techniques we currently use. It is imperative for balancing out the humors.” He turned to Solas. “You bring me someone who does not even know how to use leeches? What am I supposed to do with her?”

Jo couldn’t keep the disgruntlement out of her face, and decided that perhaps she could be of some help after all. Even if she proved unable to heal, she could at least clean the wound of infection and reduce her fever with skills she learned from the first aid course she was required to take before her trip abroad. Thank the heavens for small mercies.

As she got closer to the girl, however, Jo stopped. There was something eerily familiar about her small form, and it took several moments before she was able to place it. The whispers were but echoes compared to the Fade, but she heard a recognizable sentiment and a familiar story. A little girl whose mother was ill, deathly afraid that her father would never return from war. People screaming and setting houses aflame in the night. The fear and discomfort and loneliness that seemed to pour from her small frame.

This was the same little dreamer she had come across in the Fade. The first she had helped. It seemed so long ago now, but she could still remember the lullaby she had sung. And the little girl was still alive; it seemed almost miraculous. Looking at her sweet young face Jo felt so much at that moment. Sadness, concern, and compassion. Before she knew it she was humming the melody, and then singing as she kneeled beside the cot. _“Baby sleep, gently sleep. Life is long and love is deep. Time will be, sweet for thee, all the world to see.”_

She gently swiped the small sweaty forehead, gathering loose hair strands behind an ear, and slowly began to unwrap the bandage around her leg. _“Time to look about and know, how the shadows come and go. How the breeze, stirs the trees. How the blossoms grow.”_

The infection was serious. A putrid smell came from the torn flesh, pus covering dead skin that was a sickly black and yellow, and Jo could see a flash of bone. She placed her hands on either side of the wound and thought about how much she cared for this child. How dearly she wanted her to recover, to take away at least one pain that she had been forced to experience in her short life. She thought about clearing the infection and knitting skin. _“Baby sleep, gently sleep. Life is long and love is deep. Just hold fast, say your plea, we will wait for thee.”_

Just as it had with Cole, magic poured from her fingertips and began to pool into the wound. The girl shot awake and startled, her hands coming up in distress. Jo looked her in the eyes, smiled, and continued to sing. _“Golden slumbers kiss your eye, smiles when you arise. Play in glee, sing carefree. Reach to touch the sky.”_

By the time she finished the verse, the wound had closed and nary a scar remained. The little girl started crying small gasping breaths, and propelled herself backwards into the wall in shock. Jo reached out to her, and waited the couple of minutes it took for the little girl to look her over and crawl into her arms. She wrapped her arms around small shoulders and rubbed her back in a motion that she hoped was comforting.

Jo had a very odd moment just then. It was one of those cosmic moments she rarely experienced, and didn’t really hear about outside of recreational drug use. She felt as if everything was falling into place- like everything that was supposed to happen was, and everything was connected. She was also overwhelmed with this sense that everything was going to be alright. The power of this faith was astounding. She turned up to the three men in bewilderment, but none of them were looking at her. Cole was looking at the girl in her arms with a small smile. His eyes then flicked up to hers and the smile grew.

“You made it better,” he stated happily. Jo smiled back, feeling rather good about the whole thing. She then turned her attention on the other standing men in the room.

Solas and the surgeon were staring at each other, the surgeon frustrated and Solas strangely dispassionate. It took a moment for Jo to see why it was strange; his face was expressionless, but his eyes were dancing with mischief.

“You didn’t tell me she was a mage,” the surgeon bit out, frowning.

Solas’ eyes twinkled. “We weren’t sure. And I would hate to have misinformed you.”

“So you were letting an untrained apostate practice on my patients?” the man sounded scandalized.

Solas’ eyebrow raised. “To no small effect. Or did we interrupt your plans to save the girl?”

The surgeon scowled. Solas continued to speak, his tone breezy, as if speaking with a casual acquaintance about the weather.

“You do not mind if we continue to conduct healing lessons in here, of course? I can imagine you would appreciate the reduced workload.”

“I don’t suppose I have the option to refuse?”

Solas gave the man a challenging smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course you can. After you explain to the Inquisitor and her advisors that you are interfering with the training of a talented healer.”

The man somehow managed to produce a skeptical sneer, which Jo thought was rather impressive. “Talented? Her? At that small demonstration? We have better healers than that already present.”

Solas smile grew sharp. “That was her second ever attempt at healing. I believe there is room to grow.” He then swung himself away from the surgeon so that his front was facing Jolina. “Well? Is this something you would like to be trained in?”

Jo smiled again. This was an opportunity to help. An opportunity to gain some control over herself. An opportunity to become a little more independent. “Absolutely,” she stated assuredly.

“Excellent,” Solas stated. “Well, come along then. What you were doing was utilizing a healing aura, but learning specific techniques could greatly reduce the amount of mana you spend. I have a few books in my rooms that might be of interest to you…” Jolina gave the girl a farewell kiss on her forehead as the elf led the two out the door, giving the Surgeon a cheeky backwards wave as they left the infirmary.

*

That night Jolina desperately wanted to visit some of her friends from the Fade. She was so proud of herself, and she wanted to share her success. As she stood in the familiar space, she willed some of her friends to come find her. Wisdom and Faith showed up after several minutes, and she grinned at them.

They had been happy to hear of her experiences. Faith touched her cheek, looking proud, before floating away. Wisdom had stayed, although she looked slightly distressed.

“Jo,” she said, “you need to be careful. While you were here we were able to avoid demons for the most part, because there were so many of us protecting you. But by yourself you attract their attention. Your decision to become a healer is wonderful, but that will also make you more susceptible. Ask Solas for help, but you need to learn how to protect yourself.”

Jo felt as if someone had dumped cold water over her head. Demons? She knew they were there, but… what could they do to her? She had acknowledged the risks beforehand, of course, but she had felt safe. But she was in danger? Would they try to possess her? 

Jo’s worry grew, but Wisdom just pulled her into a hug, and gestured a few feet away. Jo looked up to see a familiar bald elf, watching them with crossed arms and a curious look on his face.

Jo squeezed Wisdom’s hand and approached him. “So, demons?” she stated awkwardly, hands fiddling with the thread at the hem of her tunic.

Solas snorted. “I take it you were suitably chastised?”

Jo nodded. She heard the man sigh.

“One step at a time,” he said, looking a little exasperated with her meek attitude. “While you are here with me you needn’t worry about demons. After we have developed your skills as a healer, we can look into recognizing a demon’s intentions, as you have already proven adept at recognizing them. Hopefully you can continue to avoid their attention.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this chapter up faster than I thought I would. The benefits of staying up all night waiting for fireworks. Thank you all for reading! Please let me know what you think! Cole is so hard to write... but I am trying.
> 
> Shout out to Ivy's lullaby! From the movie The Village, just in case anyone was interested.


	7. To Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jolina learns how to fight. Cue montage accompanied by music from Rocky.

“With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.” ― Eleanor Roosevelt

**Chapter 7: To Train**

Jolina realized that she had no real basis for comparison for intensity, because over the next few weeks every new week proved to be most intense of her life.

Apparently Commander Cullen Rutherford had been very skeptical of her participation in the exercises with the recruits, and had only allowed it on the condition that a Templar be present. She had showed up in her light leather, shivering from the cold, and had nervously ignored the armored man in the corner as they began to warm up. She was given a sword and shield, and they were set to block and parry in pairs. It was an effective exercise; simple in execution due to the repetitive motion, but difficult to maintain because her opponent was a heavily muscled 200-pound former farmer. His strikes jarred her shield hard enough her entire frame shook from the impact, and she had to constantly widen her stance so that she didn’t fall over.

Overall the training was good. 

But the first week was awful. Her entire body was in a constant state of muscle ache, and it took an entire week of disgruntled groans and hushed complaints for an exasperated Solas to force her to take some infusion of a plant he called elfroot. Which helped greatly. Jo was so sincere in her thanks, in fact, that Solas had shown her how to create the concoction, just so she would stop her awkward, bumbling attempts at thankfulness.

The first week of her training in other weapons was also rather rocky. Varric had decided that attempts with a bow could wait until the muscles in her arms were no longer in pain, and took control of her training with daggers. Luckily for Jo, techniques with a dagger had translated the best from the Fade due to the heavy reliance on stance and footwork. However, it also required an agility that was beyond her, so Varric had started a running regime as well as work with what looked like a rudimentary pommel horse. At first she could only run for ten minutes before she began to stagger and fight to take gasping breaths. By the end of the week she was at least breathing correctly, and she lasted fifteen minutes without stopping.

The easiest part of this week had been her work with Solas. It took a slightly difficult drawn-out conversation for him to understand her process, and then he began utilizing healing as a way for Jo to recognize and become familiar with her magic. By the end of the week, Jo was no longer feeling overwhelmed when she felt a rush of energy pooling in her forearms. It was also pleasant to work in the infirmary, the arrogant surgeon notwithstanding. The little girl, whom Jo learned was named Juliana, had taken to following her around, which Jo thought was incredibly endearing.

It was also during this week that Jo and Cole established something of a routine. Jo did not see the young man during most of the day while she was training, although he would occasionally come and help her with patients when she visited the infirmary. She made it a point to find him every evening and eat dinner with him, however, even though he never ate anything himself. She enjoyed his thoughtful remarks and reciprocated with quiet observations about her day. It helped her... settle. Occasionally they were joined by Varric and Blackwall, and even Solas on one notable occasion. That was nice, but not the same.

She occasionally caught him doing odd things. She was on her way to the armory when she noticed him putting pieces of plum up by the windowsills. A few days later she could swear she saw him running across the courtyard carrying an entire wheel of cheese. She also caught him speaking to his shoelaces, asking them not to get untied with a quiet insistence. He looked up at her every time she noticed him with curiosity, but she just gave him a reassuring smile.

It wasn't until she heard some of the whispers of the workers and the soldiers that she got a better idea of what was actually going on. His creativity and persistence in his attempts to help people was rather awe-inspiring. The next time she saw him Jo gave him an extra big smile, which he returned tentatively.

The second week was better than the first. The pain was easier to manage, which allowed her to utilize more strength. The trainers for the recruits also introduced new exercises that incorporated side-stepping and ducking alongside parrying and simple blocking. By the end of everyday Jo’s thighs burned from maintaining a crouching position for so long, and Jo had taken to massaging her legs at the end of every day. Cole watched this new ritual curiously, and Jo wondered if he had ever suffered from sore muscles. What had it been like for him to become corporal? Was it a painful process?

In the second week Varric introduced Jo to the pommel horse looking thing. At first he just required that she hang there, suspended up by her arms, but he eventually asked her to swing her legs back and forth in every direction. The core and upper arm strength required to maintain this level of control was surprising (Jo saw one of Leliana’s scouts using it, and it looked so easy). Fortunately for her, Varric managed not to laugh too loudly the few times she fumbled as her strength gave out. She was successfully running twenty minutes straight, however, so Jo rationalized this week a success.

Now that Jo could recognize her magic, Solas thought it important to understand the theories behind magical application in order to enforce some level of control and technique. He gave her several texts, which she had taken to reading during lunch. In theory the information was simple; barriers and glyphs were put in place to prevent damage, healing auras were used to treat a generalizable area, and more specific healing spells could heal damage, and rejuvenate or regenerate energy. Actually putting this theory into practice was much more difficult, oddly because healing was so easy for her to accomplish intuitively. Solas had asked Jo to perform a specific healing spell on a man in the infirmary, but the moment she touched him, her magic poured unbidden and removed the ailment. 

Solas had pulled her aside afterwards and attempted to get Jo to understand the importance of casting these spells. It could be used to augment and conserve her abilities, and was a more efficient use of mana. If she were to be in a battle that necessitated healing multiple party members, she needed to operate more conservatively with her mana in order to ensure everyone was healed. Jo had expressed that she understood his point (and she really did), but she had no idea how to go about ensuring this level of control.

By the third week, Jo spent a good twenty minutes at the start and end of every day stretching, which helped a great deal. She could have kicked herself for not thinking of stretching beforehand, but in her defense, she had not been a very athletic child. She also _felt_ stronger. It was easier to strike and block, and she was finally getting to the point where the fundamentals she had learned in the Fade were assisting her in her efforts to gain skill. She was assigned a different partner to spar with, and had actually managed to gain some headway with the young man because her footwork was faster, which guided her body through the different offensive and defensive techniques they were using.

It was during this week that Jo made it a point to meet Commander Cullen in person to thank him for his assistance, reluctant thought it might be. She had been in Thedas long enough to notice the obvious animosity between the order of Templars and the mages, and had heard a little about the tired blond man’s history. She had come up to his tent and caught him as he was just getting up. He looked extremely discomforted by her presence, as well as that of Cole’s, who had trailed through the courtyard behind her.

“Commander Cullen? Might I have a word?”

He looked between the two of them with a stern frown and nodded.

“I would just like to thank you for allowing me to train with your troops. I understand that this is a privilege, and you have plenty of justification to be wary. I grew up without having magic, so this… transition has been difficult. I promise I am working on it. Still, I am extremely thankful you didn’t tell the recruits about the nature of your concerns. I understand they have a prejudice against mages.”

He looked surprised, and then considering. “It was as much for their benefit as it was for yours.”

“I understand. But I am still thankful.”

He nodded absentmindedly, and then looked away, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. “I heard you have been learning healing magic?”

Jo smiled. “Yes. And as far as I know, I am incapable of any other kind.”

Cullen’s eyes shot back to hers in surprise. “Really? I know mages specialize, but I thought that was because they chose a route. Not that they were incapable.”

Jo shrugged. “I would have no idea. You probably have had more interaction with magic than I have.”

Cullen frowned. “Where are you from?”

Jo had a wry smile. “Not Thedas. Another world, which apparently is connected at the Fade.”

“And in this world…”

“No magic.”

Jo had no idea how to decipher the look on his face. “I see,” Cullen stated in a halting manner, and Jo realized that it might be better to cut this conversation and run. Give him time to think? Although Lord only knows how he thought of her at this point. Suicidal, prone to hysteria, and mad off her rocks?

“Well, thank you for taking the time to talk to me. Have a good day.” She had spun, grabbed Cole’s arm, and frog-marched the two of them away awkwardly.

That afternoon Jo was mildly surprised to see Cullen during a sparring event put on for the recruits to evaluate what information was sticking, and what exercise techniques needed to be repeated. Although maybe she shouldn’t be? She didn’t see much of the man, but imagined that Cullen had taken a more administrative role out of necessity. The nature of being Commander; after all, there were a lot of men to coordinate.

When she had been called up to the sparring ring, she had been thankful for the time she spent training with her first beast of a partner. Her opponent had a similar build, and used his sword and shield like a tank. She was at least a foot shorter, her frame slender, and she knew she would have to use a strong stance when defending, all of the momentum of turning of body when striking, and coordinated footwork to dodge when appropriate in order to get anywhere with the man. That was something she was still struggling with, actually; determining when it was more appropriate to dodge or shield. They both used energy.

Her practice had paid off, as the stamina she was gaining through her runs carried her through a majority of his attacks. The spar came to a head when blocking his strike had taken enough energy that he was able to cuff her head with the edge of his shield before she could move. Her vision swam for a second and she clenched her teeth through the pain, before using that as an opportunity to take advantage of the fact that he had let his guard down. Feeling blood drip down her forehead, she blinked in time counting… and then quickly propelled herself forward, catching the edge of her shield with his and using it to pin him and spin herself around so she was facing his back. After that, it was a side kick to the spine, and her sword at his neck as he tumbled forward onto his hands and knees.

There had been applause, and she looked up to see Cullen with a raised brow as he stood nearby, a hand casually resting on the hilt of his blade. Jo raised a brow in return. Glancing to the side she saw Cassandra frown in disapproval. Jo sighed. What was she supposed to do about any of this?

Varric had heard about her victory when she met him in the armory later that day. 

“I heard about your success, Peaches! We should celebrate. I’m thinking ale?”

Jo immediately became suspicious. “What kind of ale?” She had made the mistake of accepting Dwarven Ale sometime last week, and Jo swore the alcohol would have been fit to strip wood varnish.

Varric grinned. “Whatever you will drink. But this deserves alcohol. Did you see the look on Cassandra’s face?”

“Yes.” Jo felt her face fall. Did the woman really dislike her that much? It’s not as if she could control whether or not she had magic.

“She was obviously conflicted. I mean, here you are, an untrained mage with strange abilities and questionable origins, but at the ring? You were a woman who persevered through the pain, who kept a cool head, who defeated a much stronger opponent. Something she admires. She obviously can’t make sense of the two.” Varric seemed delighted at this inner turmoil apparently experienced by the resident Seeker.

Jo was surprised. She hadn’t been able to feel that conflict- perhaps because she had been so far away? Although she was getting better at controlling the influx of emotions to some extent, or at least ignoring it and trying not to let it influence her own. Maybe she was becoming too reliant on this strange ability of hers?

“Sure. Let’s celebrate,” she acquiesced with a resigned smile, which Varric had returned with an approving nod.

They got to the archery range, and Jo got out her bow and quiver full of arrows. He had finally decided to let her attempt to use a bow, as her muscles were no longer constantly burning. And with the strength she had been building in her arms and shoulders, this practice was far more productive than the last.

Now that she could keep the arrow even as it was notched and released, aim became the name of the game. She spent a couple of hours experimenting with the relationship between distance and the strength of her pull, as well as the relationship between where she positioned the bow, and where the arrow landed. It was… fun, actually. Notching the arrow back to graze her jaw, taking a deep breath- the tension familiar, the release powerful. It felt an awful lot like magic, actually. 

Jo knew intuitively that in order for her to make any strides, she would need a great deal of practice. She would have little time in the battlefield to aim, so that and power needed to be something she could adjust without conscious thought.

Varric offered a few pointers, but by and large left her to experiment by herself. After Varric decided she had done enough for today, she jogged a few laps around the keep, happy at how much easier it was. She left Varric then to meet Solas in the rotunda, promising to meet the dwarf later.

Walking in Jo could see the elf bent over the table positioned in the middle of the room, reading a tome. His eyes snapped up to hers when he heard her approach, and straightened. “Ah, Jolina. Just in time.”

He continued to speak as he stood. “It occurred to me that there are certain exercises we can focus on that are aimed at improving control and mana replenishment. Hopefully these skills will translate as you attempt healing spells.”

Jo nodded tiredly. She was rather exhausted after a day full of physical activity, and the feeling of drying sweat between her shoulder blades was not pleasant. Hopefully all of these practices could be accomplished sitting down?

“Have you meditated before?”

Oh, thank God... She nodded. But wait, what if he was talking about a different kind of meditation than the one she attempted on Earth?

“Excellent. Then you know that the first step is to establish a sense of mindfulness by clearing your mind. This enforces discipline and focus, and you will need both if you intend to gain any control over your mana.”

Again, Jo nodded. That sounded familiar. Alright. She could do this.

“Cole?” Solas called out, and Jo watched with bemusement as the blonde rogue got up from the couch and walked towards them. She hadn’t noticed he was there. “I called Cole in here to ensure that you are clearing your mind. He will inform me if you are not.”

Tartar sauce. Jo actually had a rather busy mental space when she wasn’t actively doing something, and found it hard to calm that space without music. But she could try, yes? Who knows- maybe her time spent in the Fade might have changed something? But she felt too much apprehension to be hopeful.

Solas led them outside into the courtyard, and found a shaded grassy spot that was devoid of people. They sat facing each other. “For now, just breath.”

Jo attempted to do just that, but it was much harder to synchronize her breathing when she wasn’t exercising. She felt like she was breathing in either too little, or too much air. Focusing on it created this uncomfortable awareness, and it was almost like she forgot how to do it correctly if she had to think too much about it.

After a couple of minutes, which were rather fascinating for Jo because she could see the elf’s muscles relax (was he always so tense?), Solas stated, “Now attempt to empty your mind. You are nothing more than a series of breaths in a space. Your limbs and torso are weightless. You are like air. You do not need to think about existing. You just need to inhabit the space.”

Jo tried, she really did. But her brain decided that now would be a good time to consider philosophical existentialism, as it considered what Solas was saying. 

“Cole?” Solas stated, and Jo sat with growing horror as Cole repeated, verbatim, all of the things that were going through her mind.

“Isn’t there a danger to forgetting about my existence? As far as I know, my reality is the only true reality because I can’t be separated from my perspective. Which allows the possibility that nothing really exists outside of myself, or that this is all a figment of my imagination. Although could I really consider myself so adept as to have created all of this? Probably not. In any case, if I don’t acknowledge or deny my existence, will I continue to exist? For that matter, is existing merely inhabiting a space? Or is it something more? Does my consciousness or my physical presence demand an existence? And does a consciousness need to have a will and a purpose, or are imprints of a memory or emotion enough to warrant that state? After all, the ghosts in the Fade were like echoes, without a body or purpose or self-awareness, yet they _existed_. Or perhaps, only to me? In which case, existence only takes place through the acknowledgment of said existence by others? In which case, if there no one around, do you really exist? But how do you consider this debate with any kind of intellectual backing because nothing in the world is truly objective-“

“Jolina,” Solas mildly scolded.

“Oh my, he looks rather unhappy. I am sorry. I have always had a hard time clearing my mind. I am so busy thinking of things that need to be thought about, that my mind seems to enjoy considering things I don’t need to think about when it has the time. Does that mean I need to set aside time both to think about things I need to and things I don’t need to before my mind will settle? How lovely it would be to live longer than eighty years. I’m not sure I have the time necessary to accomplish that.”

The elf crossed his arms and seemed to purse his lips in an irritated fashion. “Jolina! The purpose of this exercise is to stop thinking. Not to think more.”

“And now he looks upset. Goodness. He was the one who decided to invade the privacy of my thoughts using Cole. _Using_ him. I hate to be _used_. I wonder if Cole hates it too? All of that abuse heaped on him as people lash out as he is attempting to help… Fuck people. But I do so admire his perseverance. It is hard to be compassionate when you are being judged. Just because they don’t understand the logic of his actions, they have to criticize and blame. And they don’t understand _him_ , so there is fear and hatred. I feel it when he walks with me around the courtyard and in the reception hall. It is not fair. Although I know life isn’t fair. I know people can be like this to anyone they decide to _otherize_. They all used to think I was a freak, too. Although sometimes they used the word weird. Or intense. But always attached to a too, so it’s basically the same thing. People suck, but I can’t help but find them fascinating. I must be doomed to an unhappy existence.”

Solas stood up, his frown severe, looking frustrated, his hands curled into fists and held tightly by his side.

“I'm sorry Solas, I don’t mean to frustrate you, really… I just don’t feel comfortable saying this all out loud, and so I have to contend with letting it out in my head. But this wouldn’t be the first time I proved to be an irritation to everyone around me. Why can’t I seem to be able to connect to other people as easily as everyone else? Is there something wrong with me? My personality? My brain? Maybe if they cut it open, they would realize my medial prefrontal cortex is smaller than it should be, like in schizophrenics…”

“Jolina!”

That was definitely a shout, but Cole was the one narrating, and Jolina couldn’t stop thinking if she tried. “And this entire experience is still jarring. Just look at his ears! How is that real? How is something like magic real? Or the Iron Bull. How am I supposed to see a Qunari and not think I am dreaming? Because everything in this world is impossible.”

“Cole! Stop it,” Solas bit out, and Jo could feel a twinge of Cole’s hurt. If Jo thought Solas had looked irritated before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. The man looked utterly pissed off, and Jo couldn’t stop herself from squealing as she propelled herself to her feet, only to dart a few steps to hide behind Cole. She could feel another wave of irritation, frustration, and confusion roll off the elf, and Jo gripped the back of Cole’s shirt overwhelmed. Oh, God. She really screwed up this time. She… Solas was hurt. Underneath all of his other emotions she felt the pain. Why? That reference she made to his ears? Her lack of faith? And he wasn’t angry. Not really. It took a moment to process that.

“Does she ever stop thinking?” Solas asked Cole, and he seemed to be taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

Cole turned to look at her, and then back at Solas. “Yes. But she thinks more when it’s quiet.”

“Is it always so….” Solas couldn’t seem to find the right word.

“Yes.”

Solas let out a big sigh. “Jolina.” It was said in a hard, commanding voice. Jo peeked out from behind Cole warily. 

“Yes?”

“Come here.” His tone broke no room for argument.

Still feeling apprehensive, but concerned about his pain, Jo stepped out from behind Cole and shuffled in front of the elf.

“You said you have tried meditating before. Have you ever managed to successfully corral your thoughts?”

Jo shook her head, feeling abashed. And then stopped herself, thinking. “Actually… listening to music seems to help.”

Solas sighed, looking tired. “Well, apparently we are going to have to attempt a different approach. Although this might explain why you have been experiencing difficulties in your previous attempts to control your magic. I need some time. We will speak tomorrow?”

“Alright.” Jo murmured. She watched Solas stride away, and turned towards Cole.

She bit her lip anxiously. “I’m so sorry Cole. I made him upset, but that made you upset too.”

Cole looked solemn. “It’s okay, Jo. You didn’t mean to.”

“Unintended consequences still hurt, though.” Jo felt a mishmash of remorse, apprehension, and confusion. She looked down at the ground, chuffed at the dirt with her boot in frustration, before looking back at Cole.

He looked so sad. Oh. Jo couldn’t stop herself from trotting over to him and grabbing his hand. She had no idea what to say, or how to apologize for what she was thinking. She just… hoped he could feel her sentiment.

“It’s okay, Jo,” Cole repeated. Jo gave him a small smile, clutching the bit of warmth and skin.

*

Dinner was an interesting affair. What was originally planned as a night of revelry and mild debauchery quickly turned into an embarrassing mess. Jo discovered that she was just starting her monthlies, but she was apprehensive about how to go about the… intricacies without causing Cole to worry. Or suffer some kind of mortification. Although would he worry?

She asked Cole to stay with Varric while she went to visit the surgeon, who reluctantly gave her some rags, but… surely she was making something of nothing? She resolved to go back to the tavern, drink an ale, and forget about the whole thing. Which is exactly how it went.

Before Cole decided to ask why she was troubled in typical Cole fashion.

“Jo? There’s a new knot. Sticky, wet, red, dripping in clumps, embarrassment in bloody rags… Why is bleeding embarrassing?”

Jo felt her face redden as everyone at their table quieted.

“Ah, Kid?” Varric started to say.

Cole looked genuinely confused. “But doesn’t everyone bleed?”

Varric had a light blush of his own as he tried to explain, “Yeah, but it’s different for women…”

“Why?”

Blackwall was the next to intercede, and Jo was amused to see he was also blushing. “Women have to bleed sometimes… down there… in order to have babies.”

Cole nodded, which made his large hat flap a bit. “Yes, but… why is that embarrassing?”

Varric looked confused. “It’s… not?”

“Then why is everyone so embarrassed?”

They all looked at each other, before Jo decided to step in. She was sure her face was completely red, but she ignored it the best she could. “It’s been stigmatized, Cole. It makes men uncomfortable because it is messy and different from their own experience, and it makes women uncomfortable because they feel forced to make it this secretive thing. And religious texts often paint it as dirty and defiling. Older civilizations in my world actually used to quarantine women away from society during that time.”

The Iron Bull must have been listening, because he felt the need to stumble over to their table. Jo was still uneasy about the man, even after a rather affable first meeting, and tried to cover her unease. “The Qun does not think of that kind of blood as dirty. It is considered natural and necessary. Just like sex.” 

Oh Lordy, the man was huge. He was also thrumming with both wariness and curiosity. “So, other world? That sounds interesting.”

Jo had to stop herself from snorting. His tone almost made it sound like a pick-up line. “Qunari society sounds interesting,” she offered. And it did. From what little she had heard over the last few weeks, the Qun operated as both a moral code, and a source of instruction shaping the structure of society and its government. It would be interesting to hear about a culture in which a singular text governed so much of society- after all, Jo came from a country that operated under the idea of “separation of church and state”.

“Well maybe sometime we could share?”

Jo frowned. Was he purposely trying to make everything he says sound provocative? 

“Maybe,” she offered with a bland smile, feeling a little uncomfortable at his size and attention. She unconsciously scooted just a bit closer to Cole, but didn’t realize it until she saw the Ben-Hassrath zero in on the action. He frowned in consideration.

“Do you plan on joining us?” Varric asked, and Jo could hear the challenge in that invitation.

The Iron Bull smiled. “Nah, Krem and I are having a drinking contest. Anyone want to participate?” Was it just her, or was he looking at her when he said that?

Varric and Blackwall looked like they were seriously considering it, which prompted Jo to stand and excuse herself. “I hope you guys have fun. Have a good night.” Cole stood next to her, prepared to follow her.

“Aw, come on Peaches. Can’t handle a little bit of alcohol?” the dwarf teased.

Jo looked him in the eye. “You have no idea how excited I am to bathe right now. And I’ve held off long enough.”

“Fair enough,” Varric acquiesced, before adding, “But you don’t need Cole for that, right? Or do you?”

Jo colored and pouted in irritation. “No. I don’t.”

Varric grinned. He got way too much enjoyment out of teasing her. “So, Kid, you want to try your hand at drinking?”

Cole frowned, still standing awkwardly, and Jo fairly glared at the man. Was he suggesting what she thought he was?

“I don’t eat or drink, Varric.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t, right? Just give it a shot.”

The blonde rogue frowned, obviously unsure, but eventually nodded his head. “Alright.” He sat back down.

Varric smiled at him encouragingly. “Attaboy.” 

Jo frowned unhappily. And then made her way around the table to get in the dwarf’s face. “No funny business,” she stated fiercely, before spinning on her heel and striding out of the tavern. She heard Varric repeat, “Funny business?”, sounding confused, but Jo forced herself to keep walking. Despite the worry. Cole could handle himself, right?

The shared bathing room was blissfully empty, and Jo took her time scrubbing off all of the dirt that had accumulated during the day, and then soaking in the glyph-heating water. It felt fantastic on her sore muscles. And she just really enjoyed feeling clean. Maybe as a result of the over-emphasis of hygiene prominent in her culture? She wiggled her toes, ignoring the pruning taking place at the tips.

She realized that this was the first time she had been truly alone in a long time. The last few times she had been here to bathe, there were at least a couple of women rinsing their hair in a corner. As a brief reprieve, the privacy was nicer than she remembered. She guessed at least an hour had passed before she made it back to the tavern with the intention of turning in for the night. 

Walking in she could hear a group of men singing in a drunken chorus. Looking over at their table she could see Blackwall was passed out, his form slumped ungracefully over the table-top, and Varric seemed to be swaying as he told a story, gesturing wildly with his arms. Cole sat between them, his hat missing, his cheeks more than a little red, and a huge grin on his face. Oh. That was cute… Well at least he seemed to be a happy drunk.

Jo headed up the stairs and entered their room. She removed her tunic, which she had worn over her tank top and leggings out of the bath, and crawled into bed. Her legs hurt, but she wasn’t sure she had the energy to massage them tonight. It felt like too much work.

The door opened while she was still thinking about it, and Cole, still hatless, ambled his way into the room. The way he closed the door made it look like an accident, and he began to strip his light armor and his shirt as he made his way closer to the bed.

Well, this was new. He had never taken off his clothes in front of her before. She couldn’t stop herself from evaluating what she could see of his torso. Lean, and covered in scars, but the muscle was taut.

Nice.

After which Jo felt ridiculous and slightly embarrassed for checking her friend out while he was clearly out of his mind with drink… and because it was Cole. “I don’t mind,” he stated, and Jo felt herself blush. She wondered if her cheeks were as red as his were now. Still…

She was in for another surprise as Cole climbed under the covers next to her, and then began massaging her legs for her. She started to protest, but he stopped her. “You’re hurt. Let me help.” And it did help. He seemed to use his gift to adjust until he was pressing with just the right amount of pressure. Where did he learn how to do that? She couldn’t stop from groaning in relief.

“Jo?”

“Hm?”

“Do you like my hat?”

What? Jo sat up and attempted to see Cole’s face in the dark. “Your hat?”

He giggled. Jo assumed it was because of her expression. “Dorian said that if I wanted to be handsome I should change my hat. But Varric doesn’t mind it. He says it keeps the attention off my other flaws.”

Jo felt a brow raise. He was a rather articulate drunk. And… she heard that conversation with Dorian, but Varric… They had these kind of discussions too? “Well, I like the hat.” She really did. It suited him. “Do you want to be handsome?”

“I'm not sure. Do you think I’m handsome?”

“Yes,” she stated quietly. She was thankful for the dark, because she was sure she was blushing again.

She could see the blonde rogue smile, though. “Thank you, Jo.”

Jo nodded, although she wasn’t sure Cole could see the movement. How good was his eyesight? She wondered if he thought she was pretty. Although what did pretty mean to him? She suspected he had a different understanding of the concept than she did. 

“You are pretty, Jo. That boy didn’t mean it. He liked the way the sun made your eyes look like the sea, but his friends were nearby. He liked them more.”

Jo froze. She hadn’t been consciously thinking of that, had she? She didn’t like remembering about it, in any case. The boy in question had been rather mean.

“I made it worse. I’m sorry Jo. I can try again…”

“No, Cole,” she stated, before taking a deep breath. “You are my friend. So whether you think I am pretty matters more. He doesn’t matter.”

“But it still hurts? The knot snags when you look in the mirror, and you wonder if anyone will ever think differently.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then that is all that matters.”

Silence for several minutes, and then, “Jo? My head feels… numb. Like my fingers feel in the snow. Is my head cold?”

Jo giggled, and reached out to touch his forehead. Warm. Not that she was expecting anything different. “You’re drunk, sweetie.”

“Sweetie…” he repeated the endearment happily, smiling again. 

“Mmhm. Have you ever tasted anything sweet?”

Jo could see several of the blonde strands become highlighted by the moon as it came out from behind the clouds. The strands then shook from side to side in denial.

“Well, I am going to make you a cinnamon bun. To thank you for being such a great friend.”

“I don’t eat.”

“I know. But would you be willing to try it? For me?”

Another pause. “Will it taste like Ale? I don’t think I like Ale.”

“Not at all.”

“Okay Jo.” He stated the acquisition like a sigh. 

Jo sighed happily, and made her way back under the covers. Cole followed her actions and laid down beside her. Cold, she scooted over to the rogue’s side, and put her head hesitantly on his shoulder. Oh, he was _warm_ … This close to his face she could see he looked surprised, but instead of tensing (which is what she thinks he might have done if he was sober), he put his hand on her head and began to pet her in a familiar movement. She playfully nipped at his fingers, and he broke out in a fit of giggles.

She meant to say goodnight, but passed out before the words could come out of her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you were all as happy to see the fluff as I was! As always, thank you for reading. And thank you for the comments. They are really encouraging.


	8. Shaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo meets an old friend.

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” ― Haruki Murakami

**Chapter 8: Shaken**

Jolina opened her eyes feeling motivated to finally make those cinnamon buns.

As she woke up more fully she realized she was pleasantly warm, still nestled into Cole’s side. She looked up and was surprised to see that he was still there, and that his eyes were closed. Had he actually managed to sleep? Or did the alcohol make him pass out?

He opened his eyes and smiled at her, and Jo became too occupied with the thought that his smile was beautiful to properly ask.

He certainly looked sleepy as he stumbled after her on her way to the kitchen. The cook looked ready to hit the poor boy, grumbling something about burnt turnips, but Jo stepped in front of him before the woman could get close.

Jo cut right to the chase. “Can I use your oven to bake something?”

The cook frowned. “We are very busy preparing for the breakfast rush-”

Jo was imploring. “What is one more tray? And not everyone will come here anyways. I know for a fact that most of the soldiers go to the Mess Hall for breakfast, which is supplied by food made in the Skyhold kitchens in the Main Hall.”

The cook did not look happy as she agreed. “Fine. But stay out of the way.”

It actually took several hours to do. Collecting the ingredients, kneading the dough, giving it time to rise. Rolling, cutting, and then finally putting it in the oven. Cole watched the entire process with interest. There was no powdered sugar in Thedas, so in order to make frosting Jo was forced to heat milk and flour over the stove, and then gradually add crushed raw sugar and butter until it reached the right consistency. Jo was careful to hide how much sugar she was actually using- she was sure the cook would have some kind of apoplectic fit if she knew.

But overall, getting together everything she needed to create her concoction actually turned out to be a lot less complicated than she thought it would. She was happy she tried.

The cook watched with interest as Jo drizzled the frosting over the cinnamon buns. Jo wasted no time getting one out of the still hot pan for the woman. “In my appreciation,” she told the cook with a smile, before heading out the door for one of the Tavern’s tables. It didn’t occur to Jo until she walked away that the cook would realize how much sugar was used when she tasted the bun. It would be… much sweeter than typical Thedas fare.

Whoops.

She led Cole to the table, and sat him down. She presented the roll with no small amount of anticipation.

Cole stared at the bun curiously, poking the dripping side with the tip of one of his fingers exposed from underneath his hand wrappings. He brought the finger back to his mouth patiently. After he had actually tasted the frosting, he looked back up at Jo with delighted surprise. “Sweet?” he phrased the characterization like a question.

Jo nodded, grinning. “Sweet.”

Cole tore into the bun with some enthusiasm. Jo was so happy to see him enjoying it, she didn’t actually start to eat hers until he was licking his lips, and then his fingertips. He reached for another one.

A couple of minutes passed, both gorging themselves happily, before Cole paused. “Jo?”

“Yes, Cole?”

“You called me sweetie last night, but you don’t know what I taste like. How do you know I taste sweet?”

Jo was embarrassed and curious. “I called you a sweetie because I think you _are_ sweet-,” she paused, thinking of synonyms, “-gentle and endearing? But now that you mention it, the endearment doesn’t really make sense. Who decided that sweet things were endearing?”

Jo meant it as a rhetorical question, but Cole attempted to answer it anyway. “Some people do taste sweet. Red lips, glistening, sweet, like strawberries and cream brought by servants during summertime. Her smile alone lit the room, but the taste made him want.”

Jo’s face was red, but she was too curious to be completely disturbed. “People have tastes too?” She’d never kissed anyone, so she hadn’t considered it. How strange. “I wonder what I taste like.” She hoped it wasn’t a bad taste.

Cole looked curious too, and his face was coming closer to hers. Was he going to- “I can help?” One of his hands, fingers still glistening with frosting remains, stretched towards her.

Before Jo had a chance to respond (or figure out exactly what Cole meant), they were interrupted by the cook, who was prowling towards the two of them. “Exactly how much of my sugar did you use, you wretched girl-”

Jo didn’t wait to hear what else the cook had to say. Her smile turned mischievous as she turned to Cole. She playfully nipped his fingers, sucking in a piece of frosting with her tongue, before grabbing the tray of rolls and bounding for the door. She heard Cole giggling behind her, matching her merriment, following her out of the tavern.

Cole disappeared entirely, but reappeared next to her after she darted across the courtyard and threw herself in the small space between a tree and castle wall. Both of them were grinning. Cole stated, “Fun,” like it was a revelation, and Jo laughed some more.

“Fun,” she agreed. “Should we try to find Varric? To see if he would like a cinnamon bun?”

Cole seemed to think that was a swell idea, smiling. “And Juliana.”

Jo smiled in return, overcome with happiness and excitement. “What a great idea! We’ll find Varric first, then see Blackwall at the barn, and head to the infirmary on our way back around.”

*

Almost as soon as Jo walked out of the infirmary (still smiling, the pan empty, Cole trailing slightly behind her) she was intercepted by Leliana. The hooded woman was followed by two of her scouts and two guards, obviously tense. The woman’s expression was just as severe as it had been during their first meeting, and Jo met her gaze apprehensively.

The spymaster’s smile was unpleasant. “Time for that interrogation.”

The woman held up Jo’s backpack as if its mere presence was a sign of incrimination, and Jo let out a sound of protest. “You went through my things?” Jo stated, upset.

The smile sharpened. “All part of the _process_.” She looked towards Cole. “You will come too. Our discussion regarding your place in the inquisition has been long overdue, and we can no longer afford to follow the Inquisitor’s lenient whims.”

Jo moved defensively in front of Cole, but trailed after Leliana as she led her way towards the Main Hall. “Can I ask what prompted this change in tactics? For the last month you have seemed perfectly content to simply observe us.”

Leliana tilted her head, looking back at Jo in a considering manner. “A few of my agents have gone missing, and my sources have located the leak to one of Cullen’s new recruits. We recently received a tip-off that pointed in your direction.”

Jo was flabbergasted. “Who? Why?!”

Leliana’s face looked like she was preparing to snort, but no noise was forthcoming. “Why would I tell you that?”

Jo considered attempting to run. She certainly had not forgotten all of the suggestions that had been made when she first arrived; binding, blood magic rituals, and incarceration. And she had heard about some of the Nightingale’s tactics whispered by some of the people in the Inquisition; torture was certainly not off the table.

But she had also heard about all of the rifts that appeared, spewing demons into the countryside. She had heard about the Mage Rebellion, and the Templar-Mage war which cost the lives of many an innocent civilian. She knew that, despite all of the training she had recently participated in, she was still a novice when it came to fighting. Leaving, even if no one bothered to trail after her, would be equal to a death sentence.

And Cole was here. Her only friend in this strange world. She wouldn’t abandon him.

She noticed a feeling by her hand and flinched, only to realize that Cole had caught up to her and grasped her hand with his. She clutched his fingers fearfully, tense and apprehensive, but happy to have his support.

They passed Solas, who had just existed the room leading to his rotunda. Once he noticed what was going on, the elf immediately made a bee-line towards them. “Might I ask what is going on?” his tone was apathetic, but the lines around his eyes were tense with worry.

Leliana was stern. “No you may not. You are to be interrogated next. After all, it was only because of your insistence that these two were allowed to join.”

Solas began to argue, “What exactly about their behavior has given you reason to think they shouldn’t be in the Inquisition?”

The spymaster tried to step around the tall mage. “Your time to ask questions will come. Now is not it.”

When Solas moved in front of their group again in protest, Leliana took a few steps closer to the mage, until her face was practically in his. “If I were you, I would be more concerned about your own innocence. Do not think I am unaware of your agents. Or your attempts to woe the Inquisitor in order to influence her decisions. This ends now.”

She swept away, and Jo could see Solas’ eyes harden and his body tense. He drew himself up to full height proudly (Jo had not even been aware he was slouching), and glided after her and Cole with all of the regality of a king.

Clearly, there were things going on that were _way_ above her head.

The three followed the spymaster into the War Room. The table with the map had been pushed back against the wall, and in its places several chairs had been set up. Commander Cullen, Josephine, Cassandra, and Blackwall were already seated. Leliana joined them, and the three of them moved to sit down across from them. Jo pushed the chairs together with a defiant attitude, and sat down in the middle defensively. She took a hold of Cole’s hand with her left, and then took a cue from Solas and stood up straight in her chair. She angled her body so it was in front of both of the men beside her, and stared down Leliana unhappily.

She had done nothing wrong. She wasn’t about to act guilty. She was also unwilling to let the only people invested in her well-being be hurt at her expense.

They were all frowning. Solas felt the need to be the first one to speak. “I admit, I expected the interrogations to take place in a prison cell. This is staged more like an intervention.”

Cullen spoke up, sounding tense and angry, but looking as tired as always. He looked at her when he said, “We do not all agree about what actions you might have taken, and what needs to be done as a result. We set this up as a consultation so that we would all be able to hear your responses and each other’s accounts before we make a decision.”

Solas’ eyes narrowed. “And this doesn’t fall outside of your jurisdiction, Commander? After all, you are no spymaster. It is hardly your responsibility to ferret out interlopers.”

Cullen tensed defensively in return, his hand tight around the pommel of his sword. “It is when my soldiers are involved. We have spent the morning interrogating guards posted outside of where the bodies were found. We are attempting to follow up any possible leads." A pause, and then, "In regards to any possible allegations made against the three of you, I believe our spymaster is the least qualified to make generalizations about your character or motivations considering the limited contact she has had with you. I argued that we needed the opinion of someone more familiar with you if we are to make accusations.”

Solas nodded his head towards the man in apology, and Cullen’s face gradually relaxed. The elf then looked towards Blackwall, obviously the odd man out. “Am I to guess that Warden Blackwall is our familiar person?”

Leliana’s frown transformed into the slightest sneer. “No, he is to be interrogated as well.” Jo noted with interest that Josephine looked particularly stricken at that proclamation, her delicate hand moving to her chest in distress.

Blackwall looked surprised and wary, as if he had no idea coming into the room what this was all about. However, he met her accusations head on. “What exactly am I being charged for?”

The spymaster’s response was cool. “Misleading the Inquisitor as well as the Inquisition? After all, you are not really Warden Blackwall, are you?”

The man narrowed his eyes and his mouth turned into the slightest snarl. He looked defensive. “Who said something like that?”

Josephine answered hesitantly. “One of our informants put together quite the conspiracy. However, they are the only source of information we have against you; that is another reason why we are all meeting like this. We are not entirely sure of the validity of his account. Some of the claims he is making are quite….extraordinary.”

Solas’ mouth was tight. “And who exactly is this informant?”

The door opened behind them rather dramatically, and a young man waltzed in decked out in robes. Jo recognized him almost immediately. “Jacob?” It was that same boy that had attempted to trick her inside of the ruins. The pranking little shit that had probably laughed with his friends at her gullibility.

Cole’s hand tightened around hers.

Leliana’s smile was sharp. “So you _do_ know each other.”

Jolina frowned. “We are from the same world. The same country. And we were both attending the same University.”

Leliana’s expression didn’t change. “Well, he is stating that he knew you from the Circle in Ostwick. That you are both from the Free Marches, but that you have a history of mental disturbance, and have been using hysteria as an excuse to get out of the Circle. To hide the evidence of demonic possession.”

Cullen’s mouth pulled tight at that account, his eyes shuttered.

Jolina was upset. More people hurt by his lies. “I don’t even know where the Free Marches are! And I had no idea I was a mage. How could I have been to a Circle?”

Leliana’s lips turned down into another sneer. “It’s certainly more believable than your account that you are from an entirely different world and spent years wandering physically in the fade.”

Jolina was starting to feel desperate.

Solas once again spoke up for the group. “If you would, please list all of the accusations you have against us. How are we expected to prove our innocence when we are unaware of the charges?”

Cassandra’s arms were crossed, and her frown was intense. “Like Josephine said, his accusations are rather extraordinary. Hardly more believable than Jolina’s account.” She looked to Leliana with tired exasperation.

She continued, addressing the group. “Apparently, our Warden Blackwall is actually Thom Rainer, the Orlesian outlaw responsible for murdering a noble family and sabotaging an entire squad under his command. Solas is an ancient elven mage otherwise known as the deity Fen’Harel, who was responsible for giving Corypheus the orb of power. Cole is a demon otherwise known as the Ghost of the Spire, responsible for a large number of deaths among incoming mages in Val Royeux’s White Spiral. And Jolina is a heretic and an apostate, faking hysteria in order to hide demonic possession.”

Solas snorted, his expression dismissive and full of derision. “I am an ancient Dalish deity? Really? And you believed him?”

Cassandra was quick to correct him. "As Cullen stated, we do not all agree with these claims."

Jacob’s mouth was mulish. “He is the God of Trickery and Deception. It would be stupid to believe anything that comes out of his mouth.”

Jo frowned. “And we are expected to believe everything that comes out of _your_ mouth?”

Jacob looked at her with disdain. “Don’t feel bad for falling for their lies, Jolina. We all know how gullible you are.”

Jo felt defensive. “Not gullible enough to believe any of the shit you are coming up with.”

Jacob smiled unpleasantly. “Of course you would say that. Tell me, what kind of demon made you into an abomination?”

Cole pushed himself in front of Jo. “You are lying. Jo is not possessed.”

His attention turned to Cole. “Do you deny being a demon?”

Cole’s head tilted in serious consideration of the question. “I prefer spirit.”

Jacob looked at the Inquisition advisors and gestured towards them, as if to say, ‘See?’ “Should you really determine whether or not she is an abomination on the account of another demon?”

Solas sighed. “Can I ask why you are even considering anything he has to say?”

Josephine answered in hesitant pauses. “He has been right about… other things. We don’t feel comfortable dismissing everything he has to say out of hand.”

Solas eyes glinted dangerously, but his face was impassive. “And what has he done to demonstrate his loyalty to the Inquisition? How do you know he has their best interests at heart? And where is the Inquisitor in all of this?”

Cassandra interrupted Leliana's attempt at a rebuttal. "He raises good questions. What has he been doing as a scout for the Inquisition? And I do think the Inquisitor should be present for any proceedings."

Leliana’s teeth flashed as her lips curled downward. “If he is correct, then you all pose dangerous threats to the Inquisition. We cannot discount the possible ramifications your loss of control, lies or betrayal could have on the condition of the Inquisition’s support.”

Cullen interrupted before anyone could say anything else, face red, a snarl pulling back his lips from his teeth. "I would just like to reiterate, in case anyone here has forgotten, that we are attempting to figure out who killed our men and threw their bodies over the ramparts. That is our most pressing issue. Leliana, Jacob, if you have any claims to make they can wait until after the Inquisitor has arrived back at Skyhold."

Leliana looked considering. "And if the opinion of our Inquisitor has been swayed?"

The aggravation in Cullen's face was obvious as he stated. "Is there something you know that we don't?"

Jolina remembered something just then, and felt a fledgling of hope erupt in her chest. Surely it would be better to be proactive and eliminate any doubts now. Right? And she felt that if she could prove the truth of her own circumstance, than she might win support for her friends. “And if I could prove that I was from another world? And that I had spent time in the Fade?”

Leliana looked skeptical. “The evidence would have to be substantial. Jacob has presented his own proof of your existence in the Free Marches.”

Jo gestured to her backpack. “I need my bag.”

Leliana sneered. “And give you the opportunity to produce a weapon? I think not.”

Jo got out of her seat and took a few frustrated steps towards the woman. The woman tensed and looked ready to spring. “I want to show you pictures. Images. Hardly a weapon.”

Jacob stated sarcastically, “What, your notebook? Filled with your stupid sketches? I am sure that will convince them.”

Jo’s gaze hardened. She was so angry at her former classmate. Not even she could have anticipated how much of a dick he was. “No, dipshit. My camera.”

Jacob froze, and for the first time since he walked in, looked uneasy. “You have a camera?”

Her anger and indignation overrode her natural disposition of caution, fear, and anxiety. She moved to stand in front of Leliana. “Give it. Not that anyone gave you permission to look through my personal belongings in the first place.”

Leliana made no move to hand it over. “Please. You practically invited me. Completely ignorant of the world, snuggling with the demon.”

“Sleeping, you mean. Hardly an invitation.” Jo appealed to Commander Cullen, who had thus far proved to be a man of reason. He looked almost… afraid to meet her gaze. Bad history with abominations? “Am I not even allowed to attempt to prove my innocence?”

Cullen’s jaw was tight with tension. “Give her the bag, Leliana.”

“Cullen-” she started to argue, but Josephine supported him.

“Leliana, please. I know you are upset, but the entire reason we invited them here was to hear them out.”

The spymaster’s face was extremely displeased as she handed Jo her bag. Jolina stepped back and had to sidestep in order to avoid Jacob, who had attempted to lunge for the bag’s handle. Cole appeared between the two, his expression hard.

Jacob vocally expressed his frustration. “Move.”

Cole’s expression didn’t change. “No. You want to hurt her.”

Jo didn’t wait to get out her camera bag. It had obviously been rifled through, but the camera itself hadn’t turned on. That didn’t surprise her; she had taken out the battery in attempts to save the power, and the battery slot was difficult to find and open.

She did so with only a little bit of trouble, and turned the device on. She then gestured to the small group of people around them as she scrolled through her camera library. Everyone but Cole and Jacob got out of their seats and surrounded her small screen. She started with a fairly benign picture- a picture of her cat, Bells.

“This is a picture of my cat, in my apartment…” She ignored to small noises of interest/exclamation/apprehension and briefly explained what a camera was and how it operated. She scrolled down a few more pictures of her apartment, a couple of the skyline during a thunderstorm, until she got to a scenic view of New York City, skyscrapers galore. “This is one of our cities called New York City. Those tall building are called skyscrapers. They are made with concrete and metal… these are cars. Like… metal carriages, run with the power of lightning…”

Cue more sounds of disbelief.

She illustrated the plane ride, and showed them the pictures she had taken 30,000 ft in the air. She showed them the ruins. Jo made sure everyone had a good look of one photo in particular, in which their Professor had asked to borrow her camera and had taken a picture of their small group. She had been at the end, awkwardly standing away from a girl that slept in her tent. And there was Jacob, in the middle next to one of the prettiest girls in their group.

“We were studying ruins in a country called Belize…” She went on to talk about how she found the rift, and then started to scroll forward until she found pictures of the fade.

“These are pictures I took in the fade. I didn’t take very many once I found out that the images of my spirit friends didn’t take very well… see how translucent they are? Although the demons took much better… Wisdom said it had to do with relevance and prevalence.” Solas made a noise of interest, and peered into the screen.

She looked up to see he looked utterly fascinated. He stated, almost breathlessly, “There is the black palace in the background…”

“Oh!” Jo stated excitedly, and she hurriedly scrolled through photos until she found the one she wanted. The first one she ever took in the Fade. The plane filled with hundreds of rifts, the black palace in the background. She showed him the photo. “This one is better.”

The blood drained out of the elf’s face. “So many rifts…”

Jo nodded in a consolatory manner. “They were awful. It distorted everything around it- demons, spirits, ghosts. So much suffering.”

The elf didn’t look any better after hearing her account.

Her attention was drawn back to the advisors when she heard Cullen speak up, sounding tired and overwhelmed. “Well, Leliana? I would say that was rather convincing.”

“How do we know she didn’t just conjure those images up to trick us?”

Jo’s mouth hardened. “I can show you how it works? Would anyone like to model for me?”

They all seemed rather nervous, but Jo could see the Commander’s stance stiffen as he took a step forward. He looked like he was prepared to sacrifice himself, bracing himself for some kind of pain.

She explained the process in what she hoped was a relaxing manner. The poor man. It took less than a minute to find the right setting, center the camera, and push the button. She showed everyone the picture of Cullen, his hand tight on the pommel of his sword, a deep frown on his face that pulled at the gently forming wrinkles in the corner of his eyes.

More noises of interest. “Well?” Jo asked. She suddenly felt exhausted.

Once again, Josephine spoke up in their defense. “Please, Leliana. How could she have even conceived of conjuring those kind of images unless she wasn’t from Thedas?”

The spymaster looked over the four of them with narrowed eyes, and then looked back at Jacob. Her body language practically screamed suspicion. “I believe they should all go in cells for now. Until we can work out what to make of all of this.”

Jo was upset. They were still suspicious? After what they had just seen? Leliana made an attempt to grab her camera, but Jo batted her hand away. “This is not yours. Your position as Spymaster does not afford you the right to violate my privacy, your suspicions aside. I did not ask to join the Inquisition. I was brought here, overwhelmed and incoherent from illness and fear. If you prefer that I leave, I will. But I deserve rights until proven guilty.” She shoved the device into her camera bag, her camera bag into her backpack, and then held the pack to her chest defensively.

Leliana looked prepared to argue, but Cullen physically moved in front of her to cut her off. “I know this is an inconvenience, but if you would please. Hopefully it will only take us a few hours in order to figure everything out.”

He led them to the prison cells, followed by a couple of the guards. They were each assigned a cell, but no one said anything when Cole disappeared, only to show up in her cell a few seconds later.

She was inordinately relieved that he was there. Now that she was down here, her brief display of bravado was eating away at her nerves, and she was taking large breaths in order to stem away an impending panic attack. Her fear and apprehension shocked her nerves, and the tears came unbidden. She clung to the rogue, although she was uncomfortably aware that the proximity was making the spirit tense.

He reached out to pet her head, gently stroking her hair, and Jo gradually calmed. The rogue seemed to relax as a result.

The reprieve was short. Interrupted by an irritating young man who was looking around the cell obviously disgruntled. “Do you see what you did, you useless skank? This took me months to plan out, and you somehow managed to screw it up.”

“Are you going to monologue? Tell us all the details of your _dastardly_ plan?” Jo was feeling snarky. She didn’t appreciate the anxiety rushing back into her limbs at his interruption.

Jacob sneered. “I am not a fucking cliché. Still, I don’t understand what you did in the short month you have been here. Cullen and Cassandra are just about the first people willing to jump at an abomination claim. What did you do to them?”

Solas answered from the cell next to hers, still as stone. “She has been training with the recruits. I understand she has won some respect from her trainers and her opponents.”

Jacob laughed. “Jolina, the clumsy schmuck is trying to learn how to fight? Oh my god… you do know she has two left feet? Do you know how often she tripped on the way through the airport?”

Jo frowned, upset, “I was tripped! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Jo huffed. And introduced a new topic. “What did you do to Leliana? She obviously dismissed everything we had to say.”

The man had the audacity to snort, looking smug. “I persuaded her to take what I had to say seriously. Made her mine. Easy enough to do once I demonstrated I didn’t give two fucks about her status as spymaster. You would be surprised at how many men in this world are turned off by a strong woman.” He sneered, “Not that you would have that problem, Jolina.”

Jo ignored the slight. “And so, what? Now that she has slept with you, she’s willing to buy all of your shit?”

Jacob looked at her in disdain. “What part about months of work didn’t you understand? She and I have grown close. And of course I knew they needed proof. I was happy to go find it. Anything to get rid of these annoying, self-righteous, lying sacks of shit Ariya somehow feels comfortable calling companions.”

“Why tell such unbelievable lies, then? If you wanted to get rid of them, and didn’t want to be incarcerated?”

The guy scoffed. “I am just telling them the truth. Ask that blond loon next to you if he killed all those people in the tower. Innocent people, not given the chance to truly decide the fate of their existence. Because he chose it for them.” He turned and looked Cole in the eyes. “Be honest. It wasn’t an act of mercy. You killed them to feel relevant. To feel like you mattered. That’s why you asked them to look into your eyes while you slit their throats.”

Cole didn’t blink. “Yes. Death to make myself alive. I am not like that anymore.”

“No, you’re not. You became a freak who doesn’t make any goddamn sense.”

Jo felt cold. Detached, like she was on the cusp of having an out-of-body experience. She could feel remnants of confusion and frustration, anxiety and indignation, but overwhelmed, the feelings started to disconnect.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about what she was learning about Cole- she had watched him kill before, after all. But what Jacob was describing went beyond that. She pushed it to the back of her mind. This is something she would need to address with the spirit later. When they were alone. Because hopefully nothing too awful would happen to them between now and then.

Cole squeezed her hand. She felt the weight through her detachment, and squeezed back, wishing she could feel secure. She addressed her former classmate.

“So what is your end game? Why only these companions? What are you trying to do?”

The lines of his face smoothed, and Jacob actually looked rather serious. “I want to help the Inquisition. With everything I know, I can ensure a better ending. Deal with the threats of the Qunari Invasion and the Elven Rebellion before they have a chance to take root. But that means fixing all of the mistakes Ariya has already made in ignorance. Like trusting that asshole.” He gestured to Solas.

Jacob continued, “And why them? Because I don’t like them. Because they are dangerous and annoying, and because their actions have direct detrimental consequences for the Inquisition when their lies are brought to light.”

Jo looked at Cole, and then back at Jacob in disbelief. Really? Cole didn’t seem to be lying?

He seemed to be able to read her expression. “No, I’m getting rid of Cole because he is a demon. He knows he is dangerous, and that having him here is a risk. Not one I think the Inquisition should be willing to take.”

“Who gave you the right to make all of these decisions? Or the authority to follow through with them?” Who just walks into another world and feels comfortable rearranging everything to their liking? It’s not their fucking place.

“I’m the only one here who knows about the past and future of the Inquisition in so much detail. And the only one not pussy-footing my way around making difficult decisions.”

Jo’s lips curled. “That seems to be working out great for you.”

Jacob became angry. “Everything would have worked out perfectly if you hadn’t shown up out of nowhere a month ago! I arrived about a year ago, and when I didn’t see you around, I assumed you had been killed. Which was convenient, because otherwise I would have been forced to remove you. How was I supposed to know you were traveling around with a group of spirits in the fucking fade?”

Jo was too curious not to ask. It mattered too much. “Were you in the fade after you went through the rift?”

He stared at her. “Yes. But I didn’t stay there. People aren’t supposed to be in the fade.”

So maybe he entered the same rift that she did? Which meant that it could still be there? That there was a way she could get home?

“I still can’t believe you were able to integrate yourself so thoroughly in the Inquisition. You didn’t so much as talk to Stephanie, and the poor girl was sleeping in the cot next to you. Was convinced you were plotting a way to slit her throat in her sleep or something, with the way you kept muttering, jotting things down in that stupid notebook. But I should have guessed. Of course the freak would feel at home with other freaks.”

They were not freaks. They were compassionate men who were looking to help. She would not be persuaded otherwise. She squeezed Cole's hand, and said, “Shut up, Jacob. No one wants to listen to your shitty attempts to psychoanalyze us.”

“Please. I haven’t even started. Shall we move onto Solas next? The ancient elven mage, put on a pedestal for his attempts to free slaves, who ended up directly contributing to the fall of Arlathan? The fall of his people? Every decision you have made- from putting away the Elvhen Pantheon, to putting up the Veil, to giving your foci to Corypheus- you have fucked up everything you have ever attempted. And the worst part of this is you still walk around with this holier-than-thou attitude, like you have a fucking stick shoved up your ass. Why are you so great Solas? What is so great about your people? There were already problems before the Vints ever arrived, admit it.”

The elf in question was staring at the wall, dispassionate, although just a cell away Jo could hear the man grinding his teeth.

“And guess what? I can guarantee you will continue to fuck up. Your orb will break. You will try to tear down the Veil ‘borrowing’ what little energy you could suck out of Mythal’s remains, and fucking fail. You will die, alone, and a failure. Because you can’t accept the world the way it is. Because you are too proud to ask anyone for some goddamn help.”

Jo could see that Solas’ ears were turned red in anger. She turned to tell Jacob off, but he interrupted before she could open her mouth.

“But we can’t let off our dear Warden. Who mysteriously doesn’t hear the calling. Who mysteriously can’t sense nearby darkspawn. How does it feel, Thom? To walk around in another’s man’s skin? Someone who is worth so much more than you are? And here you are, abusing his name. Better to turn yourself in. I’m sure Leliana will be down here eventually. You know it will have to happen sooner than later. It will look worse the longer you hold out.”

A pause, and then, his tone more persuasive, “And I can guarantee, nothing would ever happen between you and sweet little Josie under this kind of scrutiny. Better to admit to your sins and your faults, and start anew. Show her the kind of man you want to be. Wouldn’t that be better for you in the long run?”

Jo was staggered. “How do you _know_ all of this?”

Jacob sneered. “I can hardly be blamed for the fact that you are too lame to play video games. Your loss.”

“ _Video games_?” She was in a video game? Seriously?

“You have never heard of Dragon Age?”

Her mind completely rejected the possibility. But maybe this is why he felt like he had the right to come here and take charge? Because he thought it was all just a game? Jo snorted, shaking her head. “And you think I am mad.”

“No. You’re Miss Jolina Rhoades. Brilliant according to our dear Professor, but too ugly and weird to hold anyone’s interest. Too quiet, and when you do talk its normally to yourself. The way you flinch whenever anyone touches you is a red flag, did you know? For abuse? Did your Daddy hit you when you were a kid? Or fuck you? It always seems to be one or the other.”

Jo couldn’t say anything. She didn’t realize that she had removed her hands from Cole’s body until she felt them tighten around her kneecaps until her knuckles were white.

“You know, now that I think about it, that freak is perfect for you. You both seem weird in the same kind of way. Although I hope you aren’t expecting anything romantic out of him. He’s asexual, you know. Not human enough to have any sexual interest in anyone. Which is a good thing for you, really- even he could probably do better than you-”

Jo wasn’t breathing. And her front teeth were so far into the skin of her lip, she was sure they were bleeding.

“Poor Jolina, though. I bet you’ve never been kissed. Now you get to die before you ever experience that. Too bad none of the Inquisitor’s companions are desperate enough to try. Even if you are just about the most pathetic fucking thing I have ever seen in my life…”

Jo had no idea how it had happened. One minute, the aggravating asshole was spitting verbal diarrhea all over them, the next a zap of lightening had shot up his body, and he fell to the floor. Passed out cold. She had no idea if the bolt had been from her or Solas- she was so tense; it easily could have been her. The guards approached the cell warily, but left after they realized he was alive.

Still, what followed was blissful silence, and everyone seemed to use the time to try to settle their aggravation. Even Cole seemed unusually tense and irritated.

Solas was the first to speak up. As always. “You knew this… _I’tel’gon’len?_ ”

Jo snorted. “Not really. I knew of him. Heard he joined the program in an attempt to get girls. I guess he was under the impression that Archaeology is sexy.”

“And has he always…”

“-been this much of an asshole? I would have no idea. Like he alluded to, I didn’t really… talk to people. Not if I could help it.”

The elf looked considering, and then turned back to where she and Cole were sitting next to each other. “He is right about Cole, you realize. As a spirit, he will have no inclinations towards romance.”

The words hurt, but Jo refused to think about it. Refused to acknowledge the fact that she may have developed any kind of interest towards the blonde. Refused to consider that everything Jacob had stated- that she was too weird and ugly to be wanted- was her reality. Refused to sink into the pain.

Refused to argue with Solas about the state of Cole’s spirithood.

“He helps.” It was enough. It had to be.

Cole’s eyes were on Jacob’s prone form. “Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. Crusty eyes, the words blur, I need to finish this paper. Clothes stink of frying oil, the Manager screams nonsense, I need this job. Needs pile, dreams stretch, and he is still wanting. Disappointment tastes like blood.”

Beautiful as always. But Jo did not want to hear this.

She forced herself to remember a quote by James Baldwin. ‘I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.’ She had been through this before, after all. Resisting any attempt to humanize her bullies because it hurt too much.

She would deal with this all later. In the meantime, she left Cole’s side and scooted until her back was against the stone wall, and crossed her arms in front of her in order to resist the draft.

It was so fucking cold. Probably because of the gaping hole into the mountain that had never been closed. Jo wished to had learned how to make one of those fire glyphs.

Cole noticed her need. Probably noticed how much she didn’t want to be around people right now, but ignored that as he came up to cuddle into her side. She resisted for a few moments, still hurting, but gradually sank into his side. Goddammit, he was warm.

“Jo.” His voice was quiet, but stern.

“Hmm?”

“You said my opinion was the only one that mattered.”

Jo sat up to look at him. He looked serious. “It is.” He was her only friend.

“You don’t ask for my opinion.”

She… didn’t. She didn’t tell Cole about any of her pains. Her idle thoughts. Her hopes or dreams. Or ask for his opinion. Why didn’t she? Part of it was because she assumed he could read her mind, and that if he had something to say he would. But Jo realized that she had started to treat the young man like everyone else who tolerated his spiritual status; a child, or a fool. Someone to talk about, and make decisions for. But not someone to converse with, or seek for counsel.

“I’m sorry Cole.” She didn’t know what else to say.

“I think you are pretty. Eyes like a thunderstorm, hands warm and welcoming, a kind smile that hums and sings when you forget people are listening.”

Jo smiled through red cheeks and a few fallen tears. He was right- she needed to reciprocate more. Ask him about what he thought, as opposed to trying to glean his motivations through his actions, and use that as fodder with which to argue against Solas.

“Well, I think you are handsome. Your eyes are sad and sweet. Your hands are gentle. The way you talk about the world is… beautiful.” The rogue smiled. “Just like your smile.”

She took his hand and squeezed as they smiled at each other.

Solas had obviously overheard them, because she could hear him say, “Jolina,” in a disapproving tone.

Jo ignored him. They would have plenty of time to disagree about Cole later. After all, they were now cellmates into the unforeseeable future.

 

* * Cole’s POV * *

 

Cole couldn’t remember if he had slept, having never slept before. But one moment the room was dark, Jo’s body warm against his own as she fell asleep under his fingertips, the whispers of her skin murmuring, mumbling, muffled. The next the room was filled with light, and Cole couldn’t stop the smile at seeing the sun illuminate her hair like it was on fire.

Very pretty.

He wondered it that was something she would want to know. Should he tell her? Would it ease that knot she felt looking into the mirror? Sometimes he couldn’t tell. And Jolina never seemed to ask what he was thinking. Although he knew that she wondered, sometimes.

Jolina. Jo. Wondering, wandering, wending. Wafting like a boat at sea. The waves large, sky dark, hope fading, but still she fought.

Oh! One of the horses was in pain. Hurt, stuck, stings, stomping won’t get it out…. He disappears from Jo’s side, only to appear at the stables. The stableboy jumps, his eyes suspicious. Cole ignored him. It’s not time for him to be helped yet- Marian wasn’t back at the castle.

Cole murmured to the horse. Hands gentle. He was careful as he lifted the hoof and removed the rock.

Tender. The horse reared, but it had the space to heal.

Cole reappeared by their inn door, and Jolina exited, having dressed. He wondered if she noticed when he disappeared. He didn’t think so. No one else could tell. Although Jo’s mind wanted him there, so he couldn’t be sure. She had already noticed him helping around the courtyard when no one else could see him.

Hm.

She was bolder than usual, in her excitement. Protective of him in front of the cook. Friend. Cole smiled.

Her excitement and happiness bled into the rolls. The dough sang of her joy, kneaded in with scarred fingers. A feeling that only got louder as it rose, painted with egg white, and browned. The frosting soaked up feelings too, but there was more anxiety. Too sweet? Not sweet enough? I hope the cook doesn’t notice…

Jo gave him the plate nervously.

Cole was curious. He had thought, once, that he needed to eat. Habit. Need? But he hadn’t needed it. And the food spoke of desperation. Dead animals tasted of fear, hunted, pain, the suffering slow, steady… Root vegetables whispered for dark earth. Fruit wanted to be eaten, shining, sheening, spread my seed…

He reached out a finger to touch the glaze, and brought it to his mouth. The taste was more like fruit, than vegetables, although not at all… fruity. And the feelings… he could taste kindness and patience. “Sweet?” he asked, because he knew this is what she meant. The taste that was not fruit.

“Sweet.” She agreed, smiling. Cole tore into the bun and was delighted to find he could taste her joy, and her fondness for him. Was it because she made it just for him? It made him feel warm. And then something occurred to him about last night that made him curious. “Jo?”

“Yes, Cole?” Her voice sounded more kind than usual, and he wondered if it was sweetened by the rolls.

“You called me sweetie last night, but you don’t know what I taste like. How do you know I taste sweet?”

That is what the word was referring to, right? The not-fruit taste?

Jo’s cheeks turned pink. “I called you a sweetie because I think you are sweet… gentle and endearing? But now that you mention it, the endearment doesn’t really make sense. Who decided that sweet things were endearing?” So it was about the feeling, and not the taste? Although he could taste that feeling she was describing in her rolls. And he knew other people could taste it too. Where was the divide? Maybe Jo would know. So he told her.

“Some people do taste sweet. Red lips, glistening, sweet, like strawberries and cream brought by servants during summertime. Her smile alone lit the room, but the taste made him want.” Cole couldn’t empathize. He didn't seem to _want_ like everyone else.

Jo face turned red, but she seemed just as confused. “People have tastes too? I wonder what I taste like.”

She was imagining bad things about herself. Cole was almost too curious to notice. What would she taste like? He had never tasted a person before… Would she taste like her rolls? Joyful and excited? Or like her smiles? Kind and accepting? Her tears? He didn’t notice his face getting closer.

“I can help?” He could ease the knot. Stop the judgment. Maybe he could taste in the same way he had the rolls? A finger outstretched, her breath caught, and her thoughts… she wanted to do _that?_

The cook came towards them looking angry, but inside she was panicking. Rations, how would she meet the quota, she couldn’t bear _another_ uncomfortable conversation with the Ambassador about mismanagement of resources…

But Jo ignored the woman, turning to Cole playfully. She nipped at one of his outstretched fingers, licking off the frosting, which tickled and _pulled_ at something strange… He giggled as he registered the tickling and felt her merriment, and followed her out of the tavern.

He disappeared as she darted across the courtyard to give himself a moment… and put the finger she had licked in his mouth curiously. It tasted like… Jo. Sweet, scented, spicy... There was joy, mischief, and excitement, which glistened over shadows of pain, anxiety and despair. But her happiness came through the strongest.

Cole decided that he liked the taste.

He reappeared next to Jo between the castle walls and a tree. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright… he could feel her excitement and it sparked his own. “Fun?” That is what this was, right?

She agreed, smiling happily.

Cole licked his fingers again as they headed to the Main Hall to find Varric.

*

Cole did not like dungeons. Crusted blood, dried excrement, dripping, slimy stone that whimpered and cried danger, despair, _desperation_... He went because he was needed.

Jo's needs were loudest. Always. He could feel her panic rise, and offered his body. She clung, but Cole couldn't stop tensing. The fear and despair from her tears bleeding, the stone underneath him, centuries of suffering, whispering, whining, wheezing... The smell of stale, musty air seemed to pull at long-forgotten pieces inside of him, hinting at glimmers of pain and heartache, and his grip on Jo tightened as he tried to steady himself. He started petting her head, stroking her hair, centering the awareness of his body through hers and sharing her solace. As her breathing steadied, so did his, until they had both calmed.

Jacob was angry. His hurt gasping of disappointment and abandonment, which he covered with hasty words and self-righteous fury. Why didn't they understand? He was entitled. He had once been the Inquisitor, he knew what he was doing. His sister had cried for hours after she played as Lavellan, romancing Solas. He didn't want Ariya to cry. He didn't want Josie to cry. He was trying to protect them.

Jacob spewed truths that Cole knew were best left unsaid, and Cole gripped Jo as she became upset. But she was strong enough to defend herself.

Jacob was talking about him. “I am just telling them the truth. Ask that blond loon next to you if he killed all those people in the tower. Innocent people, not given the chance to truly decide the fate of their existence. Because he chose it for them.” He turned and looked Cole in the eyes. “Be honest. It wasn’t an act of mercy. You killed them to feel relevant. To feel like you mattered. That’s why you asked them to look into your eyes while you slit their throats.”

Jacob's memory of it was strange. Like one of Varric's stories; written words that became _real_. Something more. And there, behind the image, a muttering. 'They know what I am. Where I came from. They need to leave. She will find out. She will leave me. Please. I want to stay. I need to help'.

It was easier to focus on Jacob's thoughts than his own. He didn't like to remember before. Before he knew what he was.

But he hadn't forgotten. "Yes. Death to make myself alive. I am not like that anymore."

Jo felt strange. Cold. Like a thread had been cut. He tried not to let his worry show as he squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, but her hand felt waxy and stiff. Her hurt muted. Cole frowned.

Jacob liked to talk. This kind of forced confrontation did not help. Forcing people to own hard truths by saying it in their face. It did not work. Cole knew from experience.

Everyone's hurt flared. His friends were in pain. So consumed in his own hurt, Jacob wanted everyone else to feel it too.... Cole had to stop himself from stabbing him. He did not like people that hurt his friends.

Jo let go of his hand and gripped her knees. The pain was building, the hurt screaming in Cole's ears. His own anxiety and frustration mounted. Jacob needed to stop. Now. He needed to, or Cole was going to appear in his cell with his daggers...

Silence, and in the stillness Cole found himself breathing hard. Everyone's pain settled like fallen dead leaves, stacked, in plain sight and yet hiding.

Solas spoke to Jo, and Cole could hear his melancholy. And then guilt, anger, irritation, fear.

No one spoke of the truth. Jo, who didn't know any better, didn't question them.

And then Solas was talking about him. “He is right about Cole, you realize. As a spirit, he will have no inclinations towards romance.”

He was speaking for him again. Not that Cole minded- it made Solas feel knowledgeable and relevant, which helped to quiet the elf's inner discontent. But this time it hurt Jo.

Cole tried to make sense of the girl's pain. Insecurity glared. 'I'm too weird and too ugly, just like he said. Otherwise I would've been kissed before, right? Someone would have approached me. It hurts. The idea I might never find love. Or companionship. Being able to live for someone. And the person that I want here... of course he wouldn't feel that way. Of course. I don't know why I expected this to be different. Why do feelings hurt so much?'

She wanted _him_? Why?

"He helps." She wanted it to be enough. He didn't know what to do.

Cole felt her try to shut the pain out. It leaked.

Maybe it would help if she knew what Jacob was feeling? If she knew that it wasn't about her? That those were just words. “Nothing I did was ever good enough for him. Crusty eyes, the words blur, I need to finish this paper. Clothes stink of frying oil, the Manager screams nonsense, I need this job. Needs pile, dreams stretch, and he is still wanting. The disappointment tastes like blood.”

It didn't help. She left his side and scooted into the frozen cell wall. Crossed her arms in front of her, but that didn't stop the shiver. Touch invaded, cold, clammy, coarse... She wanted to be alone, still hurt by Solas' proclamation, determined to suffer...

Cole ignored the pain of her rejection, and focused on helping her. Made difficult because, at the moment, he was the source of her pain.

He did understand that suffering from the cold wasn't necessary.

Cole came up next to her and sidled into her side, offering his body warmth. She was only able to resist for a few moments. It occurred to him that she was upset because of him, to the point of hurting herself, and he had done nothing to her. She accepted Solas' words blindly.

It irritated him. 

He could discourage it. If only to avoid more pain.

"Jo?"

She hummed in question, cuddling her head into his torso. Her hair felt soft.

“You said my opinion was the only one that mattered.”

Jo twisted her head around to meet her eyes. She looked concerned. "It is."

“You don’t ask for my opinion.”

She looked surprised, and then immediately contrite. 

“I’m sorry Cole.”

He was still getting used to the idea that he was the thing to make her feel better. And now he had to accept that he could make her hurt. Sharing should help. So he knew what she wanted him to know. So he knew how to respond. Maybe they could start with a demonstration? To practice? And so she didn't hurt. “I think you are pretty. Eyes like a thunderstorm, hands warm and welcoming, a kind smile that hums and sings when you forget people are listening.”

Jo smiled through red cheeks and a few fallen tears. He thought it sweet, remembering their morning.

“Well, I think you are handsome. Your eyes are sad and sweet. Your hands are gentle. The way you talk about the world is… beautiful.” Cole couldn't help but smile. No one had ever been this accepting of him before. “Just like your smile.”

She took his hand and squeezed. Cole was surprised about how much better it made him feel. Both her words and her gestures. Small assurances. Shared smiles. Clutched hands.

Solas had been listening. "Jolina." He was unhappy.

Jolina ignored the elf, settling into his lap. Barely ten minutes had passed before her breaths deepened and her body grew lax. The intensity of her emotions thinned, until all that was left was trust and fondness. He wasn't sure if the feelings were hers or his own.

Cole decided he liked it when she slept on him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... plot twist? I may tweak the last chapter to better prepare for this one. Please let me know what you think about this new direction.


	9. Skyhold: A Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has a bad day.

“Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?”   
― Charles Bukowski

**Chapter 9: Skyhold: A Study**

Cullen was not having a good day.

He had been woken up at an ungodly hour to hear a report about missing soldiers to the North. Considering this was the first time in a long time that he was able to get a decent night’s rest, he was unhappy to experience the interruption.

Tired and drowsy, he decided to try that new Antivan drink called coffee. Josie had managed to secure a trade route to her home country, and they had experienced an influx of goods as a result. He had trudged through the battlements, the Main Hall, and the hallway into the kitchen, dug through shipment trunks until he found the beans, ground them in a mortal and pestle, found a strainer usually used for tea, boiled water, strained the coffee, added a couple pinches of sugar, and had been just about to take a drink when he was interrupted by a frantic scout.

He could smell the aroma, and stole one blissful mouthful, before he put the mug down and gave the scout his undivided attention.

Apparently there had been some manner of sabotage within the ranks. The bodies of several scouts had been found thrown over the ramparts, and they were currently interrogating the guards responsible for watching that section of the wall. He was needed to oversee these interrogations, as these were his men, and to figure out the saboteur’s identity. Unfortunately, the most recent part of the training for the recruits was practicing guard rotations, so the number of people involved increased dramatically.

He was led out of the kitchen, the full cup of coffee abandoned on the counter, steam still rising.

He spent his morning with Leliana interviewing dozens of recruits. They would come in individually and answer questions. Most were thrown about how informed Leliana seemed to be about the intricacies of their life before the Inquisition, but answered the questions readily enough. They did their best to establish who had a workable alibi, but it was difficult because they only had a rough estimate of how long the scouts had been dead.

They did discover that the bodies had been killed before they had thrown over the wall, but the manner of the death was simply executed (puncture wounds), and thus made it difficult to rule out suspects.

Cullen found himself rubbing the bridge of his nose before long, trying to stem off an impending headache. He wasn’t suited for this kind of work. He could form a battle strategy at the drop of a hat, gladly, but this? Forced to distance himself from the respect and care he carried for the young men and women who had volunteered for their cause? Who he saw toil tirelessly training, working, supporting each other and the Inquisition?

They had faith in their cause. They had faith in each other. They had faith in him.

And he had failed. Once again, something else that slipped through his fingers as he struggled to stay afloat amidst the insomnia, the headaches, and the ever present _need_. Once again, he was forced to consider whether or not it was appropriate that he remain in his post.

Nothing to be done for it now. He simply listened to the recruit’s accounts, jotting down anything that struck him on a piece of parchment. This recruit behaved nervously, his fingers fidgety and his feet antsy. Was this a sign of guilt? Or merely nervousness brought on by the nature of the interrogation? Another recruit couldn’t seem to remember what he had been doing two nights prior. Was this a sign of incrimination, or one of forgetfulness?

Cullen hated this.

And then one of the recruits brought up Jolina’s name, and Cullen knew that things were quickly going to go downhill from there.

Jolina. The quiet girl that trained more tirelessly than one might expect given her noble appearance. A month at Skyhold had done little to change her thick, long glossy hair, clear skin, or her straight, white teeth. But she did not flinch at the sight of blood. She did not shy away from mud. She seemed open to accept any additional training, even when her place in the Inquisition was hanging by strings. Cullen was impressed that she defied his initial expectations of her.

Sweet Jolina. Although she rarely spoke, Cullen could tell she had a pleasant disposition. He had seen her at the infirmary a couple of times, smiling patiently while administering treatment. He had seen her trail after the dwarf or that spirit, skipping through Skyhold’s ever present puddles and grinning mischievously. Despite the obvious signs of anxiety and depression that occasionally contorted her features and caused her to close in on herself, she appeared to be generally happy.

Poor, ignorant Jolina. She had approached him just the other morning, endearing in her awkwardness, and Cullen had been oddly charmed that she made it a point to thank him. The sincerity of her gratitude shown from her smile, and Cullen didn’t have the heart to tell her that the recruits were aware that she was a mage, and that several had already made complaints.

No, he hadn’t told the recruits that she was a mage, but posting a Templar in the corner every time she trained served just as well as a proclamation. In his defense, he had known nothing about the young woman prior to her introduction to the ranks, except for an unfortunate display during her arrival in which she was clearly upset. It was later established that she was a rather untalented mage, but there was so much bad-blood present- it was difficult to reason with recruits who had come here to get away from the reality of the Mage-Templar war wreaking havoc on the countryside.

As it was, a majority of the recruits ignored her. Which was the best compromise Cullen could get them to agree to. And far from hurt, the poor girl didn’t even seem to notice. It was easy to see that she kept herself rather isolated, and existed comfortably within her small bubble. Her trainers and opponents were acknowledged and respected, but it was like everyone else didn’t exist. Aside from several of the Inquisitor’s companions that felt comfortable keeping her company.

Unfortunately, her lack of acknowledgment of the recruit’s slight did little to endear her. Quite the opposite, in fact. So the fact that her name was being thrown about like she was some kind of scrapegoat was not surprising.

He had been about to argue about the legitimacy of that claim- Jolina had not been required to participate in guard rotation training because she was not actually a soldier- when Leliana jumped at the referral. “Really?” she asked. “Tell me more.”

And so it continued for the next dozen recruits. Word must have gone around, because half of them mentioned Jolina first, and the other half had plenty to say about the girl after Leliana prompted them.

Maker’s breath, this was ridiculous. Cullen felt the need to stop her after that. “Leliana, I know you have your suspicions about the girl, but she was not responsible for this. She did not participate in the guard rotation training. Her whereabouts are already always accounted for. And she hardly has the disposition for this kind of action.”

Leliana notched an eyebrow. “You know her well enough to account for her disposition?”

Cullen frowned. “I can account for it more than you, at any rate. Have you ever had an actual conversation with the girl?”

The spymaster frowned, and then her tone dropped to a whisper. “I know this seems rather presumptuous, but I have reason to believe that she may have been lying to us about her origins.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a phylactery filled with blood. “I found this in her bag this morning. And I finally received word from a man who stated that she had been a mage in the Circle in Ostwick.”

Cullen pushed back the impulse to jump at those suspicions, ingrained from his time as a Templar. But he wasn’t a part of the Order any longer. He was the Commander of the Inquisition. And it was his responsibility to consider this with a clear head, and disabuse himself of any prejudice.

Regardless of her rather abrupt appearance, the girl was attempting to help the Inquisition, and was thus one of his people at the moment.

“And this report prompted you to take the girl’s bag?”

Leliana nodded, her eyes narrowed at the considering look on his face.

Cullen frowned. “I understand you have reason to be suspicious in the face of such a bald-faced lie, but the Circles have disbanded, so her travel into Ferelden is hardly a crime. And even if this was not the case, it is not our responsibility to return her as if she was lost property.”

He sighed, and compulsively rubbed her neck. He felt so tired. “In any case, this has nothing to do with the problem at hand. We need to find out who murdered your agents. Your suspicions about the girl can wait.”

Leliana’s mouth tightened. “The man reported that she left the Circle before it disbanded. He said that she was an abomination who managed to convince one of the mages there she was suffering from hysteria, and escaped in the confusion.”

Cullen frown deepened. That… was a rather serious accusation. If she was a suspected abomination, the Templars at the Circle would certainly have attempted pursuit. Although if she had managed to grab her phylactery during the escape…

Cullen thought about the girl giggling as she splashed into puddles. Singing as she wrapped a wound. He thought about her recent fight, blood gushing from a cut by the side of her face, features determined as she struck against her much larger opponent.

And then he remembered images of his time at Kinloch Hold. Mages, overtaken by demons, torturing and killing his comrades as he begged for the Right of Annulment. The explosion of the Chantry at Kirkwall, caused by one of Hawke’s companions.

His immediate impulse was to investigate. Which would entail a lot of pain for the girl, because there was no easy, guaranteed way to test for the presence of an abomination without introducing the subject to enough pain to trigger that self-preservation instinct. Despite his gut feeling that told him she was innocent.

Because the consequences of leaving an abomination free to wander the castle could be disastrous.

But Cullen knew himself well enough to know that, in this subject, he could not trust himself to make a decision. He had lost his connection with the fade when he stopped his lyrium consumption, and therefore couldn’t trust his ability detect any abnormality within the girl. And the past still influenced more of his decisions than he was comfortable, and he was making an active attempt to be less… heavy-handed.

So he needed another set of eyes and ears. “We will speak to Cassandra first.”

Leliana looked unhappy, but complied.

Cassandra was just as hesitant to convict the girl as he had been. “I admit, her circumstances are suspicious. But nothing about my interactions with her has suggested that she is possessed. She feels herself.”

Cullen was gratified to hear that they both got the same impression.

“You do not think her extreme anxiety could be illustrating an internal struggle?”

It was an interesting idea, but Cullen had dealt enough with personal struggles against one’s own demons to know what it looked like in another. Apparently, Cassandra agreed. “An internal struggle, perhaps, but demons are not the only source of struggle.”

Cullen could see Leliana was preparing to drag her feet in this discussion, and offered a compromise. “Well, there is no reason why we cannot interrogate her about other recruits. During that time, you will be able to observe her actions and responses, and get a better idea of the plausibility of that account. Will that work for you?”

Leliana paused, mouth pursed, considering something. Cullen tried to tamper down his irritation.

“Would you be willing to meet my source first and hear what he has to say? Give him a chance to offer his proof.”

Cullen didn’t both attempting the hide the shortness of his response. Maybe this could issue could be handled quickly, and they could move on with their interrogations. “Fine. But it will take place in the War Room.”

Leliana nodded. “I will go retrieve Josie and meet you there.” She left before Cullen could question her. Why would Josephine need to be present when hearing this scout’s account?

He and Cassandra shared a look that communicated their confusion.

She spoke up as they made their way to the War Room. “What is this all about?”

Cullen frowned, his strides long, his armor clinking together as he moved in a familiar manner. “A few scouts were murdered and tossed over the ramparts. We were interrogating the recruits to find the culprit. We were… derailed.”

“I can understand why the culprit of the murdered scouts needs to be found as soon as possible, but… shouldn’t the Inquisitor be present if we are to make any decisions about Jolina? After all, the Herald is the one who determined that she could stay in the castle.”

Cullen could feel his head beginning to throb again. Cassandra brought up a good point. This presented a possibility that he was uncomfortable considering- that this information about Jolina was purposely presented while the Inquisitor was out of the castle so she would not be present during the interrogation.

“I agree. She should be.”

Cullen and Cassandra had only been waiting a couple of minutes when Leliana returned with Josephine, as well as a young man wearing an expensive cut of robes. The gait of the man was cocky, but Cullen noticed that he was anxiously clenching his hands. They found chairs and were seated as the young man introduced himself.

“My name is Jacob. I worked as a miner in the Free Marches before I got involved with the Inquisition. I was anxious to travel to Haven because of visions I had been having about the Inquisition’s future.”

Cullen could feel his lips twist derisively. While he considered himself a devout Andrastian, he had seen enough conman attempt clairvoyance in her name to be suspicious. “Haven was buried in snow two months ago. When, exactly, did you visit the Inquisition?”

Josephine answered uncomfortably. “Was it about seven or eight months ago?”

Cullen looked to Cassandra, who looked equally befuddled. He then turned towards the Antivan with a frown. “Why were we not told? If he is truly capable of what he claims?”

Leliana cut in. “We were not about to accept everything he alleged at face-value. We spent several months verifying his claims and waiting for his predictions to come true. We did not believe it would be wise to advertise his appearance until we were sure.”

Something occurred to him then that made his lips curl into something close to a snarl. “Please do not tell me he foresaw Haven falling.”

Leliana’s frown turned distasteful. “He… did. But there are limits to his visions. He was not sure exactly when the attack would take place, except that it was after the Breath had been closed. As it was, the wagons and livestock we were able to recover was as a result of precautions prepared due to his warning.”

They had kept something so important from him. He couldn’t stop himself from grinding his teeth in frustration; how was he supposed to do his job as Commander unless he had all of the information present? Did they have so little faith in him? He could have done so much more at Haven if he had had the opportunity to prepare. Saved more lives. Saved more equipment.

He was ashamed to admit that he took his frustration and anger out at the young man. “Well, I have no reason to believe that anything you state is true. Convince me.”

The young man accepted his challenge with a sneer. By the Maker, he looked young.

“You carry a coin in your pocket, given to you by your brother before you left home to become a Templar. The only piece of home your brought with you. You consider it a token of luck.”

Cullen felt the blood drain out of his face. How could he possibly know that? He had never told anyone. No one. And even if this… Jacob had somehow tracked down his brother, there is no reason for him to think that he still carried the thing around.

His fist clenched the pommel of his sword, knuckles white. “What exactly is your role in the Inquisition?”

The man’s expression smoothed. “Officially, I work as a scout. Unofficially, I advise Leliana about the Inquisition’s possible futures.”

“Futures? Plural?”

The man smirked. “But of course. Much rests on the decisions of the Inquisitor, after all.”

Cullen turned to Leliana, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And he has made these kind of predictions for months? All in accuracy?”

Leliana nodded. “It is a gift. And there are further threats he has identified that we need to take care of.”

Cassandra cut in. “Does the Inquisitor know? About his presence in the Inquisition, and his… abilities?”

Leliana was quick to respond. “They have been introduced. But Jacob has been traveling as a scout for the last few months, and so their interaction has been limited.”

Josephine still looked uncomfortable. She shifted her feet restlessly, a movement Cullen followed with concern and apprehension. “The Herald was… skeptical of Jacob’s abilities. Despite the accuracy of his predictions. And she seemed uncomfortable relying on the knowledge of his visions.”

There was some part of Cullen that rejoiced at the fact that their Inquisitor was such a woman. Even if this Jacob truly had this ability, foresight should be considered with great care. Especially when administered from the mouth of someone who likely had some vested interest in the Inquisition’s direction.

Cassandra spoke up again. “Does the Inquisitor know about these… further threats?”

Jacob spoke to the woman without hesitation, without any sign of deference. Interesting. “No. I was only recently able to gather the proof I needed to support my visions. I felt this was necessary because several of the threats I identified have a rather close relationship with Ariya. I believe they are attempting to manipulate her.”

“Then she should be here to learn about their betrayal and properly judge them.”

“Ariya might not be back for weeks. Meanwhile, individuals are here actively working against the Inquisition. Do you not believe we should at least imprison them until she arrives?”

Cullen rubbed the bridge of his nose in aggravation. “Who, exactly, are you accusing? And of what?”

Jacob began by speaking about all he knew of Solas. This was supported by a missive he stated was stolen between the elf and one of his agents, as well as a record of an eye-witness account of someone who saw the elf meeting with Corypheus. Cullen could recognize the apostate’s handwriting, which was rather distinctive for its angle, but he knew such a thing could be forged. And the claim alone was preposterous enough to create a healthy amount of doubt.

The young man’s claims about Blackwall did little to alleviate said doubt. Despite the penned accounts of several Warden’s descriptions stating what they could remember of Blackwall’s appearance (which was noticeably different than the Blackwall that currently spent most of his time in the Barn, fiddling with wood). The nature of his allegations just seemed so unlikely. And the fact that this statement made their ambassador clutch her lap and breathe unsteadily made Cullen frown.

But it was his last allegations that tipped the edge of Cullen’s patience. The Commander was not surprised to hear about Cole; they had known he was a demon from the start. That he was capable of acting like a demon was no surprise. But that did not negate the fact that the Inquisitor had decided that he was a valuable addition, a decision which Cullen had attempted to honor despite his own misgivings. Jacob did not seem to hold a similar respect for their fearless leader, which caused indignation to burn within the Commander’s chest. And his account of Jolina was upsetting because of the way Jacob addressed her. Filled with obvious dislike and an irrational fervor.

In fact, Cullen’s frustration continued to mount the longer Jacob kept talking. After all, Cullen had no way to verify the identity of the people who penned these pieces of parchment. And based on the actions of all of the accused, he had no reason to believe they were actively sabotaging the Inquisition. They all seemed to actively help the Inquisition as much as possible. Even the demon had proven himself eager to aid those in need of assistance, something Cullen was still trying to come to terms with.

So when Leliana once again suggested imprisonment followed by interrogations, Cullen disagreed. Loudly. “What he brought us could hardly be considered proof. After all, these missives could have been written by anyone. I see no reason why they should be treated like criminals.”

He took a deep breath in an attempts to calm his aggravation, and continued. “And we are wasting time ignoring the most pressing issue brought to our attention this morning. Finding the culprit responsible for murdering those missing men.”

Cassandra spoke up from beside him. “I agree. Finding the culprit is a more important matter. Besides of which, I believe that any judgments to be made would be inappropriate to conduct while the Inquisitor is still away. We should wait until she returns.”

Leliana looked displeased. She turned to Cullen. “You offered the possibility to observe the girl while she was asked questions about the recruits. I accept.”

Cullen felt a yawn force its way out of his mouth, and turned it into a sigh. He was so tired. “Fine. Go get her so we can move on with this forsaken investigation. By the Void.”

Leliana had just stepped out when they saw Warden Blackwall by the doorway. “Josephine? Are you in here? I didn’t see you by your office.”

The Ambassador turned bright pink. Cullen smirked when he noticed the change, and attempted to wander over to the corner of the room as surreptitiously as was possible in his armor. He ran his fingers through his hair as he heard Josephine respond. “Yes, we are in here. I’m afraid we are in the middle of an investigation at the moment.”

Cullen could hear Blackwall stutter. “Ah… well, yes… I actually have something for you. Jolina made sweet rolls, and was happy to give me an extra one when I said that you might like one.”

Cullen snorted, and then tried to pretend he hadn’t. He couldn’t help himself, trying to imagine abominations as he remembered them, making sweet rolls…

This just proved how ridiculous this whole thing was.

Jacob must have done something to make himself noticeable, because he heard Blackwall state, “Who are you?” defensively. Cullen turned just in time to see the young man fly out of the room.

Josephine was quick to soothe things over. “Warden Blackwall, I would be delighted. I had no idea that Jolina was a baker.”

Blackwall looked back at the Ambassador in curiosity, before he shook his head and snorted. “She’s not. According to Varric, she is a scholar who just happens to bake.”

Josephine looked surprised. “Jolina is a scholar?”

The Warden nodded. “That’s what he said. Although Solas might know more. As I understand it, they read magical texts and have theoretical discussions on occasion.”

Josephine looked thoughtful. “It is a shame Dorian left with the Inquisitor a few weeks ago. I imagine that is the sort of discussion that he would enjoy.”

There was a pause as the Antivan picked at the edge of the roll curiously, before putting a piece of the glistening white bread in her mouth. Her eyes widened dramatically. “It _is_ sweet!”

Blackwall grinned, and Cullen was surprised to see how much younger it made the man look. “Aye, I was surprised too. I hate to think about how much sugar she put into these rolls.”

Cullen turned idly away from the couple to see what Cassandra was doing, and noticed her in the other corner looking at Blackwall and Josephine in fascination. He felt one of his eyebrows quirk. If he didn’t know better, it would seem that…

They heard the door leading into Josephine’s office slam open. That must be them. Cullen gestured everyone to sit down in seats in front of the table. It might be a bit awkward with the Warden in attendance, but there was nothing for it now. Hopefully it would even relax the poor girl.

And then Cullen watched Leliana enter the room followed by Jolina, Solas, and that spirit, and knew the spymaster had done something regrettable. He noticed a small procession of guards and scouts post themselves outside of the door just before it closed, and frowned.

What exactly was going on? Why were they all here? Cullen watched Jolina push chairs together and sit defensively, obviously nervously, with growing displeasure.

Solas was the first to speak, which did not surprise Cullen, given what he knew of the man. “I admit, I expected the interrogations to take place in a prison cell. This is staged more like an intervention.”

Interrogation? This is not what he had agreed to. Body tense, thoroughly cross, Cullen attempted to salvage the situation.  Speaking to Jolina, “We do not all agree about what actions you might have taken, and what needs to be done as a result. We set this up as a consultation so that we would all be able to hear your responses and each other’s accounts before we make a decision.”

There. That should apply no matter what Leliana accused of them, right? The presence of Solas and Cole led him to believe that this was no longer simply about the death of scouts. Although it should be. Which is what he attempted to insinuate.

Solas narrowed his eyes, mouth pursed in discontentment, and stated, “And this doesn’t fall outside of your jurisdiction, Commander? After all, you are no spymaster. It is hardly your responsibility to ferret out interlopers.”

Cullen tensed, affronted. Grinded his teeth in irritation, and then winced as it made his head ache. Clearly, Leliana had stepped out of bounds. “It is when my soldiers are involved. We have spent the morning interrogating guards posted outside of where the bodies were found. We are attempting to follow up any possible leads.” He rubbed his forehead, thinking unfavorably of the kind of claims Leliana might have made on their way to the War Room. “In regards to any possible allegations made against the three of you, I believe our spymaster is the least qualified to make generalizations about your character or motivations considering the limited contact she has had with you. I argued that we needed the opinion of someone more familiar with you if we are to make accusations.”

That is, after all, why he had invited Cassandra into the room. She had been one of the people charged with looking after Jolina and Cole, and would be more informed than most.

Cullen was gratified to see the elf nod his head in what was clearly an apology. Cullen felt some small spark of hope that level-headed consideration might rule the day, and felt his face relax. He would simply need to find a way to deescalate Leliana before any claims were obviously made….

Solas spoke up. “Am I to guess that Warden Blackwall is our familiar person?”

It was a reasonable assessment. From what Cullen had seen, the Warden occasionally spent time with all three of the ‘accused’.

Leliana spoke up from beside him, and Cullen tensed apprehensively. “No, he is to be interrogated as well.”

What?

He was hardly surprised when Blackwall spoke up in his defense. “What exactly am I being charged for?”

Leliana wasted no time replying, and Cullen had to resist the urge to hit the woman when she said, “Misleading the Inquisitor as well as the Inquisition? After all, you are not really Warden Blackwall, are you?’

“Who said something like that?”

Josephine made a noise of distress, and Cullen noticed that the woman’s hand was pressed tightly into her chest. She looked wary of participating, but obviously wanted to come across to the Inquisitor’s companions as a united front. This was a struggle Cullen understood well, and he empathized with her. Even as he wished she would keep her mouth shut.

“One of our informants put together quite the conspiracy. However, they are the only source of information we have against you; that is another reason why we are all meeting like this. We are not entirely sure of the validity of his account. Some of the claims he is making are quite…extraordinary.”

And there is was. Too late to take back. Although Cullen was interested to see that the Antivan told the truth. Anxious to hear the claims denied, perhaps?

Solas looked tense, but defiant. “And who exactly is this informant?”

The doors shot open, and Jacob entered as if he had been waiting for such an opening. Cullen didn’t bother hiding his snarl. This entire conversation was completely derailing, and he imagined the arrogant young man in front of him was only going to make it worse.

Jolina spoke up. “Jacob?”

So they did know each other. His claim that she was from a Circle might have some merit after all. Although Jolina’s tone was rather… scandalized given their apparent relationship.

Leliana vocalized his thoughts, sounding pleased. Jolina responded, “We are from the same world. The same country. And we were both attending the same University.”

She was sticking to her lie?                                                                                                                              

Leliana was quick to point out what she obviously believed was the truth. “Well, he is stating that he knew you from the Circle in Ostwick. That you are both from the Free Marches, but that you have a history of mental disturbance, and have been using hysteria as an excuse to get out of the Circle. To hide the evidence of demonic possession.”

Cullen could feel his mouth pull tight in irritation. Leliana had no right to present that opinion as if it was one shared by all of them. Especially as this had nothing to do with their investigation of the scouts.

Jolina denied the charge, her desperation sincere. “I don’t even know where the Free Marches are! And I had no idea I was a mage. How could I have been to a Circle?”

Leliana sneered, and Cullen could feel his knuckles whiten. “It’s certainly more believable than your account that you are from an entirely different world and spent years wandering physically in the fade.”

That was, unfortunately, true.

Solas was quick to cut in, getting to the heart of the matter. “If you would, please list all of the accusations you have against us. How are we expected to prove our innocence when we are unaware of the charges?”

Cullen glared at Leliana, willing her to keep her mouth shut. He did not want to make this more than it actually was. Especially while the Inquisitor was out of the castle.

Cassandra spoke up instead. “Like Josephine said, his accusations are rather extraordinary. Hardly more believable than Jolina’s account.”

And there lie the crux of the matter. So why was this being discussed at all?

She continued, and Cullen could only imagine it was supposed to be a demonstration of good faith. In which she thought telling them of the charges would be the honorable thing to do. “Apparently, our Warden Blackwall is actually Thom Rainer, the Orlesian outlaw responsible for murdering a noble family and sabotaging an entire squad under his command. Solas is an ancient elven mage otherwise known as the deity Fen’Harel, who was responsible for giving Corypheus the orb of power. Cole is a demon otherwise known as the Ghost of the Spire, responsible for a large number of deaths among incoming mages in Val Royeux’s White Spiral. And Jolina is a heretic and an apostate, faking hysteria in order to hide demonic possession.”

The elf snorted, and Cullen agreed with the sentiment. “I am an ancient Dalish deity? Really? And you believed him?”

Cassandra looked rather displeased, “As Cullen stated, we do not all agree with these claims.”

No, we do not.

Jacob spoke up in defense of his accusations. “He is the God of Trickery and Deception. It would be stupid to believe anything that comes out of his mouth.”

Jolina responded before Cullen could sigh in exasperation. The boy sounded ridiculous. “And we are expected to believe everything that comes out of your mouth?”

“Don’t feel bad for falling for their lies, Jolina. We all know how gullible you are.”

“Not gullible enough to believe any of the shit you are coming up with.” Cullen was surprised to hear how ardently she was defending herself. And that she spoke with such language. She was usually such a quiet girl.

“Of course you would say that. Tell me, what kind of demon made you into an abomination?”

Not this again.

The spirit spoke up from beside the girl. “You are lying. Jo is not possessed.”

Jacob turned his attention to the rogue. “Do you deny being a demon?”

Cole answered rather seriously, given the question. “I prefer spirit.”

Jacob looked back at them as if that statement was supposed to mean something. He clarified. “Should you really determine whether or not she is an abomination on the account of another demon?” Cullen got the impression that Jacob was not the most intelligent man. While he understood why Jacob made that statement, Cole’s admission was hardly the most convincing argument in Jolina’s defense present at the moment.

Solas obviously picked up on this as well. He ignored Jacob, turning towards Cullen. “Can I ask why you are even considering anything he has to say?”

Poor Josephine answered, looking both apologetic and uncomfortable. “He has been right about… other things. We don’t feel comfortable dismissing everything he has to say out of hand.”

Solas answered in measured sentences, but the irritation was clear on his face. “And what has he done to demonstrate his loyalty to the Inquisition? How do you know he has their best interests at heart? And where is the Inquisitor in all of this?”

Leliana was about to say something, but Cassandra interrupted her. Thank the Maker. “He raises a good point. What has he been doing as a scout for the Inquisition? And I agree; the Herald should be present for any proceedings.”

Leliana responded as if Cassandra had never spoken. “If he is correct, then you all pose dangerous threats to the Inquisition. We cannot discount the possible ramifications that your loss of control, lies or betrayal could have on the condition of the Inquisition’s support.”

At this, Cullen completely lost his patience. These people were still his people. Leliana did not have the right to speak for him about these issues, or attempt to impose judgments without the leader of the Inquisition present. He felt the rush of anger make his fingertips twitch, which he clenched as he said, "I would just like to reiterate, in case anyone here has forgotten, that we are attempting to figure out who killed our men and threw their bodies over the ramparts. That is our most pressing issue. Leliana, Jacob, if you have any claims to make they can wait until after the Inquisitor has arrived back at Skyhold."

Leliana did not let up. “And if the opinion of our Inquisitor has been swayed?” What was she referring to? By the Void, that could mean anything from demonic mind control to a new political alliance.

He was more than aggravated with the woman. “Is there something you know that we don’t?”

Their stare off was interrupted by a hesitant voice, “And if I could prove that I was from another world? And that I had spent time in the Fade?’

Well, that would work out quite nicely, wouldn’t it? It could unravel any kind of credibility Jacob had obviously built up with Leliana, which would allow Cullen to put the claims to rest until a more appropriate time came to investigate them.

Leliana was stern. “The evidence would have to be substantial. Jacob has presented his own proof of your existence in the Free Marches.”

Not really. A blood phylactery and written account that could belong to anyone. But he understood the importance to keeping up a reputation.

Which apparently was not what the spymaster was doing. He watched the woman squabble with the girl over her bag like she was one of those hare-brained nobles arguing over shoes. It was with a growing sense of embarrassment and annoyance that he finally ordered, “Give her the bag, Leliana.”

Happy to get Josephine’s support, Cullen was surprised to see Jacob lunge for the girl. He shot out of his chair, preparing to intercede, but stopped when he saw Cole manifest defensively in front of Jolina.

Then he was called over to see this so called ‘camera’. The images she offered were… bizarre. Strange. Unbelievable, if he was to be honest. He had never seen such a device, and when he looked towards Cassandra to see if she could feel any pull of magic from it, the warrior shook her head.

He felt overwhelmed. And exhausted. This had been a rather trying day. He turned to Leliana and said, “Well, Leliana? I would say that was rather convincing.”

All signs were pointing in support of Jolina’s claims. When Leliana tried to argue against this, the girl offered to demonstrate the mechanism’s abilities. Knowing that the spymaster would argue if one of the girl’s friends volunteered, Cullen stepped forward. He was fed up with this entire exchange. With this entire day. Exhausted and apprehensive, he turned to Jolina in surrender.

The actual act of taking his picture proved a quick, simple thing, and before long Cullen was staring into his own image in fearful wonder. Maker’s breath.

He was fully expecting a capitulation. Instead he heard Leliana state, “I believe they should all go in cells for now. Until we can work out what to make of all of this.”

Still? And then Cullen’s mouth grew hard. Fine. It was obvious they needed to have a talk with the spymaster. Better that conversation occur outside of present company. And the sooner they handled whatever information Leliana had kept from them, the sooner they could continue the investigation and limit the risk of accidentally angering the Inquisitor.

Cullen stated, “I know this is an inconvenience, but if you would please. Hopefully it will only take us a few hours in order to figure everything out.” He went with them as a demonstration of good faith, leading the guards and Inquisitor’s companions towards the dungeons. He kept his peace as he saw them to their cells and made his way back to the War Room. He waited for Leliana to return, crossing his arms defensively over his breastplate. And then, once she was back in the room and the door was closed, he let her know exactly what he was feeling.

“That was extremely inappropriate. You did not do what we had agreed. You spoke out of turn. You made accusations as if speaking for the rest of us. And you seem to have purposely started this conflict while the Inquisitor was away. I hope, for your sake, that you have a good reason to justify your actions.”

Leliana’s expression was petulant. “I told them nothing of the claims we had discussed on the way here. But when I saw Warden Blackwall, I assumed you had changed your mind and invited him so we could discuss those claims in person.”

Cassandra made her patented noise of disgust, which almost masked Cullen’s own noise of irritation and disdain. Cassandra spoke. “He came to give Josephine a sweet roll.”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed defensively. “How was I supposed to know that? You were all seated when I opened the door.”

Cullen sighed in exasperation. “I didn’t think it would be a problem for him to be present while we asked her about the recruits.”

“I still had no way of knowing. Besides of which, I am not fully to blame. I wasn’t the one who told them everything that we were considering.” She looked towards Cassandra with an accusing stare.

“They had a right to know what was being said about them. You know how I detest all of the lies and useless gossip.”

Josephine interrupted. “Yes, but this was neither the time, nor place. Now we have several of the Inquisitor’s closest companions in prison cells. If this information gets out, it could have serious repercussions. Both inside and outside of the Inquisition.”

“Yes, well, we will just have to attempt to contain it until the Inquisitor arrives.”

Cullen was frustrated by the fact that they were ignoring the most obvious solution. Let the Inquisitor’s companions go, as soon as possible. Less chance of gossip, less resentment on behalf of the individuals. Less backlash from the Inquisitor when the elf found out. He voiced his thoughts. “Or we could let them go.”

Leliana sneered. “Why trust me as your spymaster if you cannot trust any of the information I present to you? This matter is too dangerous to dismiss.”

This had nothing to do with trust. And even if it did, after what happened with Meredith during his tenure in Kirkwall, Cullen had vowed never to again accept someone’s word on blind faith alone. This was about reason, which did not side with the spymaster. “The longer they are in there, the more problems we will experience in the long run.”

“I agree.” They turned as one to see the Inquisitor sweep through the door, dirty and disheveled, and followed closely by Sera, Dorian, and Vivienne. “I heard there has been some commotion in Skyhold today?”

Cullen frowned, rubbing his neck. “There has.” Of course she would get back now. Before they were able to figure the situation out among themselves. He hated feeling like a squabbling child.

“I would like to know why some of my companions have been carted off to the dungeons.”

Leliana was hesitant to speak. Why the reluctance? She had no problem voicing her opinion only a moment ago. “We have reason to believe that they may betray you, Inquisitor.”

The elf approached the spymaster with more compassion than Cullen would have been able to muster. “Leliana. Even if that was the case, it is not your place to judge my companions. We all have our responsibilities; you are in charge of your scouts, Cullen in accountable for the soldiers, Josie is responsible for the merchants, and I am in charge of interacting with our allies and taking responsibility for the behavior of my companions. I know you care deeply about the state of the Inquisition, but if you had any suspicions, you should have waited until I was back to address them.”

Leliana’s eyes shuddered, but her face was dispassionate. “I apologize, Inquisitor.”

The elf smiled through her exhaustion. “It is fine. Hopefully we will be able to salvage the situation.”

Cullen was caught in disbelief for a moment, surprised that he still had the energy to feel. Their Inquisitor was a compassionate leader, indeed. In the Templar Order, similar actions at best would have been interpreted as insubordination. At worse, treason. The fact that Ariya had completely brushed off the entire circumstance… Although this action was congruent with previous actions the woman had committed; allying with the mages, forcing Celene, Briala, and Gaspard to come to an accord in Halamshiral. The Dalish elf had a history of merciful demonstrations.

The elf looked at Leliana knowingly. “Would I be right to assume that Jacob is somehow involved?”

So she did know something about him. Leliana said nothing, but Cullen heard the insinuation.

The Inquisitor sighed, and then swept out of the room, heading for the dungeons. Cullen followed, still feeling responsible.

It had only been maybe an hour since they were placed there, but there were signs of distress. Jacob was knocked out cold, flat on his back. A scout approached and assured the party that he was just knocked unconscious. Cullen noticed that the scout was acting as a guard with curiosity, and turned to look at the other guards in the room. They were all Leliana’s people. Where were his men? The ones posted to stand guard in the prisons?

He slipped again. He should have noticed this when he came to drop the companions off. But he was so full of self-righteous fury he hadn’t even noticed. By the Void. He was angry at himself.

The Inquisitor seemed to make a similar observation, giving Leliana a raised brow. And then she addressed her companions. “Hello. I understand that there has been some accusations made against you by our spymaster.”

None of them said anything to that. Cullen noticed with interest that Jolina even appeared to be sleeping, head comfortably nestled on the spirit’s lap.

“I do not intend to keep you in here. However, I would appreciate the chance to speak to you all one by one before you are released. Will you grant me that right?”

They all nodded. Except for Jolina, who still looked like she was sleeping.

“Solas, would you come speak to me first? In the meantime, Commander, Spymaster, I would appreciate it if you could continue that investigation about our murdered men. After all, I am sure we can all agree that we would hate to see a repeat performance.”

He responded promptly. “Yes Inquisitor.”

Cullen couldn’t help feeling some resentment as he marched with Leliana up the prison stairs. This was what he had wanted to do in the first place. Instead, he had been reprimanded like a child.

And he had not had anything to eat since yesterday. His stomach grumbled uncomfortably.

No, this was not a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right! So I am rewriting parts of this entire work- I had been writing Cole POVs, but didn't add them to the story because I thought it difficult to find the right place, and it was awkward because it made the chapters too long... but I was convinced to add it anyways. I have attempted to do so for Chapters 3 and 8, and will try to do so for 7 in the next week (although 3 will need to be lengthened and revised). So please re-read if you have the time or inclination and let me know if you think it makes the chapters stronger. Or if it just as weird as I feared.
> 
> Shout out to the person I promised a Jacob POV. Turns out it will be next chapter. Cullen completely stole the show, and I couldn't seem to stop him once he had started. And fourteen pages later...
> 
> Thank you all for your kudos and your comments. I am still learning as a writer, and am not afraid to change my methods or my work in order to improve. But this is so much easier to do with comments. Especially constructive and supportive ones. So far, you guys have been great. *air hug*


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